I, Romulan
by kasviel
Summary: SLASH. YAOI. A look at things from the other side. After Season 3, Episode 7: "The Enemy". How does a loyal Romulan soldier deal with being rescued by Starfleet?


**PART ONE**

**Author's Notes**

This was an unexpected whim of a story, which turned into something quite involved for me. I've always had a fascination with and admiration for the Romulans, since the first _Star Trek _show I watched, which was _The Next Generation_. Now that I'm revisiting the ST-verse, I find that I like them all the more, on both _The Original Series_ and TNG (the only two shows I have watched so far). They are also somewhat scarce in appearances, and mysterious culture-wise, not to mention lacking in character development and, at times, depth; basically, we never see much from the Romulans' point of view, from their side. This gives both room to elaborate upon, and intrigue, to me. So, I decided to take an obscure Romulan character from the canon, and interweave him into a fan fiction involving other better-known ones, and some slash romance for good measure.

The story takes place after the events of _Star Trek: The Next Generation, _Season Three, Episode #07 "The Enemy". It revolves around Bochra, who, after being saved by Geordi LaForge, begins questioning his beliefs and way of life, not to mention his longtime mentor and Commander, Tomalak (yes, him). Tomalak is dealing with subterfuge of his own, and his paranoia/hatred has kicked into overdrive. Bochra's loyalty to the Romulan Star Empire is tested when Tomalak insists he lie about the Galorndon Core incident, slandering the Federation, the _Enterprise_, and LaForge for the sake of duty. While this might have been second-nature before, Bochra has his reservations, which leads to a bitter confrontation with Tomalak, as in the background, Alidar Jarok's treachery adds fuel to the flames of suspicion.

I used quite a lot of Romulan language and cultural information, based off of role-playing sources and other places on the net. I wanted it to have somewhat of an ethnic feeling, since I am so taken with this fictional culture. I hope, it does not get too annoying, and if there are inaccuracies (as I am certain there are), I apologize sincerely. I am new to writing for the ST-verse, this is my first fic ever, so more apologies for that. I tried to skirt around the canon and be respectful of it, though there are some facts I took from non-canon sources (such as an obscure reference to Tomalak having a wife and his own son, which came from one of the novels).

Finally, this IS A SLASH STORY, so if male-male relationships bother you, please do not read it. Likewise, there is some kink in the form of discipline, as my writing style always contains. It is not graphic, but there is sex, so you have been warned.

UPDATE: June 2012 - This is the revised edition, before I expand into parts two and three. The translations of Romulan terms are now integrated into the main text, for simplicity's sake.

* * *

**1**

_So this is a Federation vessel._

Walking down the long, clean corridors, the young Romulan soldier felt oddly at ease. There were no Federation officers pointing or staring or making snide remarks. The only one who was glaring at him was that sole Klingon he knew was behind his right shoulder, but what ship was without at least one fault in crew or design? The man on his left, small and wearing that strange device over his eyes, made up for any malice in the Klingon's eyes, anyway; he was talking about the ship and the incident they had survived, as comfortable as if the Romulan were an old friend or comrade. Whenever the soldier's eyes would dart around, wide and alert and paranoid, the man, Lieutenant Geordi LaForge they called him, would soften his tone and assure his Romulan acquaintance that he was not to be harmed.

_I believed it without wanting to believe it. I was an enemy at their mercy; how could they be so tolerant, so respectful? No, no, I did not want to believe our enemy was so generous, so civil . . . _

"Bochra."

The Romulan looked down in alarm, and saw the human's hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "We aren't going to hurt you."

_. . . so kind._

Yet, Bochra's eyes lost their fear and suspicion as LaForge said the words, and he walked the rest of the way to the transporter room without seeking out nonexistent hostility. He heard the Klingon make a noise halfway between a grumble and a sigh, and smiled a little to himself at his annoyance. Did they think that a species who would befriend _them_, would not be able to befriend a Romulan? Hell, was it not a vast step up?

The echoes of superiority rang hollow in Bochra's mind, however. True, it was due to being trained (like a dog) by the humans, but even the Klingon was acting more civil than-

Bochra cut off the train of thought abruptly, but was disturbed none the less by it. Had he been about to compare his own people _unfavorably _to the Federation? What was this treachery? The Federation was only civil because the humans running it were weak and soft. It was not superior conduct. It was stupidity.

As his mind tripped over his thoughts, Bochra tripped over his shoes. His weakened legs buckled, and he nearly fell. LaForge caught him and slid an arm beneath him, propping him up. Bochra looked at him in surprise, saying nothing.

"Easy, easy there. I got you."

_They could be torturing me for valuable information,_ Bochra thought bitterly. _Why don't they? Why are they so damned soft? Why is this-this __**hevam **_[Romulan derogatory word for 'human']_ so damned, so damned . . . _

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Bochra nodded, too fretful to speak. Geordi helped him along the rest of the way, and he allowed it, despite himself.

_Why does he care?_

They came to the transporter room, and Bochra tried to hobble quickly to take his place on the transporter. He was eager to get off this ship and get home, back to his people, his place in the universe. Geordi, however, put a hand on his shoulder again, and he looked back at him.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Geordi asked.

Bochra frowned at him, pondering him. "Of course," he said confidently. Giving the Klingon a jeering look, he added, "I am going back to _**my**_ people, _**my**_ Empire."

"_Your_ people and _your_ Empire sound pretty harsh," Geordi said uneasily.

"And so am I."

"No, you're not. You're different."

Bochra drew a breath, fighting back the urge to panic. "I don't- I'm not- That is-" he sputtered.

"You listened when I spoke," Geordi pointed out. "You acted as a person, a normal person, not a brainwashed soldier. You're a bright guy, sensible, and . . . I know you cared for just a moment up there, and not only about yourself."

Bochra felt his face flush, and eyed the Klingon uneasily. "You are wrong, I-" He lowered his voice. "We used each other to survive, nothing more."

"You don't believe that, and neither do I."

"Well, I . . . " Bochra started, but faltered. He shifted on his aching legs and his brow furrowed. "I . . . "

The Klingon cleared his throat, giving LaForge an impatient look.

"My Commander is awaiting my return," Bochra said, lifting his chin importantly. He stomped up to the transporter and stood as best he could without falling over, though the effort shot pain through his body.

"Bochra."

Bochra's eyes slid down to the human, though he did not budge or speak.

"Take care of yourself, man."

Geordi reached out and grabbed Bochra's hand firmly, shook it, and smiled. It was a genuine, earnest, warm smile, unlike any Bochra had ever seen before. He hurriedly ordered the Klingon to energize, but he knew it was too late. That smile had been burned into his memory, and remained on his dark, troubled eyes even after he had vanished from the _USS Enterprise_.

He knew it would be a long time before he would ever be able to forget that smile, if he ever could. A small, hatefully sentimental part of him questioned if he would, even if he could. An even deeper part of his mind told him no, he would not trade that one last look . . . for anything in the universe.

* * *

The transporter room of the awaiting Romulan Warbird faded into view, and Bochra blinked away the haze from his eyes left by the glaringly bright _Enterprise_. For a split second, he felt a strange lack of familiarity, as if he had transported _to_ a foreign ship instead of _away from _one.

Then his eyes fell on Tomalak, and all felt as it should. He was home, and relief flooded through his body. Instead of loosening up, however, he made more effort to stand straight and display no weakness. He stepped down from the transporter well enough, but then nearly collapsed from the pain and exhaustion.

Tomalak's severity fell away, and he caught the youth in his arms. To Bochra's amazement, the support turned into a tight, emotional embrace. "I thought they would have killed you, let you die," he said, sounding weary from anguish. "I thought you were lost."

"No," Bochra said softly. "No, they . . . they saved me, Riov [Romulan word for "Commander"] Tomalak."

Tomalak's embrace stiffened momentarily, and then he stroked the young man's back. "Shh, shh, you don't have to say such things anymore," he said soothingly. "You are safe and with your own now. There are no Federation ears to appease."

Bochra frowned, wondering why Tomalak was being so patronizing suddenly. "But," he said, trying to pull back a little from the embrace. He managed it, barely, and looked Tomalak in the eyes searchingly. "They _did _save me, Riov Tomalak."

He saw a shadow pass over the commander's face, but it was gone before he was certain of its meaning. Tomalak smiled, though it was not a pleasant smile, and went on, "You have been through a great ordeal, _Arrain_ [Romulan word for "Centurion", akin to Starfleet's Lieutenant rank] Bochra." There was something dismissive about the way he spoke the title, and he acted as if he had heard Bochra's voice, but not his words. He pressed a button on the entryway and the doors slid open. "You will rest now."

Bochra opened his mouth to protest, but felt something on his neck suddenly, where Tomalak's hand had been. It was a familiar, very slight prick, and he stared at the Riov in confused surprise. He caught a glimpse of the Hiifvehi'Saehne [Romulan: Medical Officer] entering the room, just before the sedative took effect, and everything went black.

* * *

As consciousness slowly began to take form again, Bochra ran his fingers over his empty palm. He could feel that human's hand, warm and unreservedly firm, grasping his own. Though his eyes could not yet open, he could still see that smile . . .

_'Take care of yourself . .. '_

How could he be that giving to a stranger? Why would he care about some enemy of another species, another world, another set of beliefs and government and culture?

Bochra had always been told that the Federation and the humans were arrogant, believing themselves to be more enlightened and superior to other races. But that could not be true. A being like that would not care about a foreigner, would not be so respectful. Bochra knew this, because he himself was of a mindset of superiority, and had treated Geordi LaForge rather terribly.

_No, _Bochra thought weakly. _Not terribly. I acted as any reasonable soldier would act. I . . . was strong._

_No._

_No, I was scared. I saw an enemy, and I was frightened. I was frightened that he would treat me . . . the way **I** was always taught to treat **my** enemies. I never considered the possibility that he would b anything less- no, anything **more **than . . . than the kind of soldier I am._

_But he was._

_He was . . . more . . . _

Bochra moved his head from side to side weakly, struggling and failing to open his eyes. He found his throat scratchy and dry when he tried to make a sound. He heard a murmur of sound nearby, but could not make it out.

_Why do I feel like my strength is inferior to his weakness? It is weak to be kind, after all, and allow another to have power over you. But he did not act weak, only . . . trusting. Which is stupid. But . . . it was reassuring. It was comforting. Being around him was easy, talking to him was easy, and . . . helping each other felt . . . natural, as if we were the same._

_Aren't we the same, though? Young soldiers, just on different sides? The humans aren't so stupid, after all, they just . . . they just **choose **to be trusting. They do know the risk of it, after all, but they insist on sticking to those ideals._

_But that doesn't make them weak . . . _

_In fact . . . it may make them strong. Stronger than . . . _

_No, no. What am I thinking? This is nonsense. I'm . . . I'm so confused. So . . . _

_Riov Tomalak, please, tell me what to do._

The hum of noise began clearing, and Bochra realized it was the sound of voices. They were speaking in Romulan, and he smiled faintly at the sound of his own language. Trying to clear his throat, Bochra's lips parted, as he attempted again to speak

_Riov, tell me what to think._

"R-Riov . . . T . . . Toma . . . "

The voices quieted, and there was the sound of footsteps approaching. Bochra realized then that his eyes had been open all this time, but his vision had taken this long to return. The blackness gave way to shadow, which turned to a colorful blur, and was now finally coalescing into familiar shapes.

"Why is he still so dazed?" Tomalak asked impatiently.

The blurry shape behind him, most likely the Hiifvehi'Saehne, replied, "He had been sedated, Riov."

Tomalak mumbled something, but Bochra caught the insinuation that it was the fault of the Federation. _That's weird, _he thought idly, _why would he lie?_

As Bochra settled back into the more comfortably dim lighting, crisper, colder air, and familiarly metallic scent of a native vessel, his mind snapped back into its habits and way of thinking. Collecting himself as best he could, he began to attempt to sit up. Wanting to prove himself fine and strong, he managed to scratchily proclaim, "I am fine."

Tomalak's eyes shifted to him, and Bochra saw them for the first time. There was an uncharacteristic uncertainty in the commander's eyes, and for a moment he looked very weary and a bit aged from the last time Bochra had seen him back on Romulus. _Are you? _they seemed to asked.

Tomalak's concerned gaze made Bochra's blood run cold. Had there been damage that he was not aware of? Was he mentally damaged? The words Bochra had told LaForge about defective children came back to haunt him, as the prospect of becoming defective himself became all too real. He looked at Tomalak questioningly, but got no answers.

The Hiifvehi'Saehne gave him water, and he drank several glasses in a hurry. With his voice stronger, Bochra repeated, "I _**am **_fine, rekkhai [Romulan: Sir]."

Tomalak stood, withdrawing a hand Bochra had not realized had been holding his own. His expression went cold, severe, and he was no longer a concerned family friend, but a superior officer. "You will live," he said vaguely, "and so the rescue mission was not a complete loss. No thanks to the damned Federation."

Speaking without thinking, Bochra said, "Riov, if it weren't for the Federation, there wouldn't have been anything left of me to rescue."

The shadow swept over the Commander's face again, and Bochra recognized it now to be barely-restrained fury and contempt. Instead of acknowledging the statement, Tomalak turned on the medical officer.

"How strong a sedative was it that the Federation pumped into him?" he asked the man, as if accusing him. "I thought you had cleared it out!"

"Ie [Romulan: Yes], Rekkhai**,** however-"

"I need his report," Tomalak interrupted loudly, "but all he speaks is garbled nonsense! He is delirious! Hnalo-stev thllen-a [Romulan: I want results now]!"

Bochra tried to protest, but his still-weak voice was unheard- or perhaps ignored. He cursed himself for being so drained, but could do nothing about his condition. With a sigh, he lay back down on the metal slab of a bed, and stared miserably at the ceiling. Tomalak continued to shout at the medical officer, getting more and more excited.

There was something ominous about Tomalak's manner and actions. He was acting as if he were protecting a criminal, rather than an injured soldier. _But what is my crime_? Bochra wondered in confusion. _Yes, it was a bit shameful to survive on the charity of the Federation, but he was happy that I survived. The way he held me, looked at me, when I beamed on . . . I know he is grateful, so why is he acting as if I did wrong?_

"He is most likely still disoriented from the damage the electrical storms caused," the Hiifvehi'Saehne was saying now, calm despite his superior's temper. "Such long exposure to those conditions wrecked havoc on his nervous system. Do you know how close he was to complete neural pathway degeneration?"

Tomalak crossed his arms, and cast a fretful glance at Bochra. "But he will recover?"

"The damage should be reversible, and he will heal quickly enough," the Hiifvehi'Saehne said. "But be patient with him, Riov Tomalak. His mind is not yet where it should be."

The two went on speaking heatedly, but Bochra tuned them out. His eyelids were heavy, and his breathing slowed. His body still felt strange, and there was a dull pain emanating from his legs and chest. The room spun, and he shut his eyes.

"Bochra!"

The voice snapped him back to reality, and he stared up, wide-eyed, at his commander. Tomalak loomed over him, with that mixture of suspicion and concern on his face. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Bochra realized that the Hiifvehi'Saehne had gone. Now that they were alone, Tomalak's face softened slightly, and he studied the youth with what was almost tenderness.

"You will be fine," Tomalak told him. He leaned far over, their faces so close they nearly touched, and Bochra thought his breath smelled suspiciously strong of aylihl [Romulan term for the infamous beverage Romulan Ale - banned for sale in the Federation]. "But you must rest."

Bochra was growing restless with all the secrecy. He forced himself to sit up, though was only able to prop himself up on his elbows, and met Tomalak's gaze steadily. "Riov Tomalak, I-"

"Shh," Tomalak silence him, patronizingly gentle again. He took Bochra's hand in his own. "All in due time. First, you must recover, and you still have a ways to go with that."

"I feel fine," Bochra lied stubbornly. "I want to speak with the doctor."

"There is no need-"

"Why are you acting like there is more wrong with me than was said?" Bochra asked anxiously. "Why are you walking on eggshells with me? What is really wrong?"

"You have been through an ordeal, that is all," Tomalak assured the youth. "Just lie back down."

"No, I want to-"

"**Lie** back down."

Tomalak enunciated every word sharply. Bochra looked up at him, and saw he was acting as Riov again. It was an order, not a request. Though he felt a tinge of anger, Bochra obeyed. To his chagrin, it was a relief to be lying down again.

Tomalak touched his forehead briefly, and then left the room. It was late, so when he exited, the lights automatically faded to darkness. Bochra felt chilled, and tried to arrange the thin gray sheet over himself to get more warmth, to no avail. The layer of padding beneath him contoured to his body, but was cold and of a slick texture that offered no comfort. A soft green light rose from the medical monitoring equipment nearby, and gave the starkness a surreal quality.

Bochra sighed, chest hurting at the effort. He felt a stranger on his own ship, and did not even know why. He thought it would be a comfort to be back among his own, but now he only felt more isolated than ever.

It would pass, he told himself. It had to pass. The reason nearly all Romulans were loyal to their Empire was the sense of pride that was ingrained into them since birth. No matter how small a part you played, you were always a piece of a much greater whole. Everyone around you was also, no matter what, a member of that glorious, all-encompassing truth: the truth of the greatest civilization in the universe, the Romulan Star Empire. The importance was so vast, so pure, that it was spread over the millions of the populace and never diluted, never ran dry.

Bochra reached for that comforting smugness, and, to his horror, could not find it. He felt cut off, empty, and turned his hatred towards Starfleet. Why had they saved him? Why did that LaForge have to defy everything he had ever believed about the human race? Why couldn't he have simply killed him, or let him die?

_But likewise,_ Bochra thought uneasily, _why didn't __**I **__kill __**him**__, or let __**him **__die?_

The young soldier felt tainted, weak, and very, very confused. He wanted his old, simple truths back. He wanted to blot out all the gray, replace it again with black and white. But even if he did simplify the world back into good and evil, that would not erase the fact that Geordi LaForge could not possibly be evil, and for a human to be good . . .

Yet even in this turmoil, Bochra's thoughts of him brought him solace. On Galorndon Core, his easy confidence and generosity had been reassuring, and it remained so even now. It was more consoling than Tomalak's patronizing words or touch.

Bochra gave up trying to puzzle it out or deny it. This was the truth, and it was _his _truth to keep. He could never speak of such things to anyone, and they would alienate him mentally forever, but he no longer cared. It was a burden to carry such a dirty little secret, but he would carry it, keep it. He would keep it . . . because he knew there was no way he could ever _deny _it.

**2**

Several days went by. The Hiifvehi'Saehne, whose name was Taibak, came every morning and evening to put Bochra through a physical therapy routine. The sessions were painful the first few days (Romulans believed in tolerating pain, and therefor used minimal pain-relieving drugs), but by the end of the week, Bochra's legs had healed enough to walk comfortably, and his breathing had regulated. He still felt pangs of pain throughout his system at times, but he bore it without complaint. His mind was too preoccupied with that ominous feeling to be much bothered by physical problems.

No medical assistant ever accompanied Hiifvehi'Saehne (HS) Taibak, and no visitors or other patients ever came to this section of the Medical Facilities. Bochra found out that the entire ward was barricaded by a force field, which Taibak vaguely tried to explain as being for the sake of Bochra not leaving and jeopardizing his recovery. Despite the loneliness, Bochra felt that he was always being watched, scrutinized for some fatal flaw that would doom the rest of his life.

He began to question Taibak. Though Taibak only shook his head in response, Bochra could tell that he was listening. Seizing on this, Bochra grew more persistent and aggressive in his questioning. He got no answers, but hoped that his annoying the doctor would bring Tomalak down to the Medical Facility, so he could turn his inquiries to him.

The plan worked. By the end of the week, Tomalak came. It was very late, and the lights of the ward were dimmed; Tomalak did not brighten them upon entering. He strode over to Bochra's bed and stood over him, expression unreadable.

Determined to prove his health had recovered, Bochra sat up fully, and faced the man with a set, hard look. A long moment of silence passed. Finally, Tomalak chuckled, shaking his head, to Bochra's dismay.

"You always were a stubborn child, Bochra," he remarked. "It always amazed me how much you fought what you were told to do, even when all you wanted _was _to be instructed."

Having his attempt at strength viewed as juvenile defiance, Bochra felt foolish. The look fell from his face, and he did nothing to replace it, instead glowering up at the man sullenly. "I am ready to return to my duties, Riov Tomalak," he said.

"Rha [Romulan: Oh really?(mildly sarcastic)]?" Tomalak turned to the computer screen beside the bed. He turned it on and idly glanced through the patient's data. "Yes, I suppose you have recovered enough, physically, for that."

"That word comes up a lot lately," Bochra commented. "Is there more at stake than my physical health? Am I-" He felt his heart skip a few beats as the word 'defective' ran through his mind. "-mentally damaged?"

Tomalak had paced over to the sole window in the room, on the far side. He stood staring out at the passing stars, his back to the young soldier. "We do not know yet."

Bochra felt the life go out of him, and he was numb with fear and despair. "Because of the electrical storms," he surmised.

"No, dear boy," Tomalak said, turning to him and pacing back into the main area of the ward. "Because of the Federation."

Bochra frowned in bewilderment. "The Federation?"

"You were in contact with one of their soldiers for hours on Galorndon Core, then a prisoner aboard their ship-"

"I was aboard their ship, but they never declared me a prisoner!"

"Nonetheless," Tomalak continued impatiently, "they had ample access to you, and you were weakened from the storms." He took Bochra's hand again, as if he were terminally ill. "Don't you see? They could have disordered your mind, implanted something in you."

"They did nothing like that!" Bochra exclaimed, snatching his hand away. "I would have known!"

"Would you have?" Tomalak asked. "Think, Bochra! They are devious, and can be clever, in a rudimentary sort of way. How would you know, and even if you did know, would you do anything but deny it?"

Bochra was furious, and it took all his control to keep from lashing out at his Commander. Beneath the outrage, however, was something much worse, much more biting . . .

"Your first words to me were that the Federation 'saved' you," Tomalak pointed out.

"They did!"

"You see?" Tomalak exhaled wearily. "Do you see how they've poisoned your mind? You speak as a vang'radam [Romulan: Traitor, a betrayer (strong insult, given the importance of loyalty on Romulus)]!"

The word was like a slap in the face, and Bochra stared at him, aghast. How could this man that he had known practically all his life- How could this man look him in the eyes and make such accusations? The anger was overcome by a wave of hurt, and Bochra's temper started to snap.

"I am _not_ brainwashed or disordered, damaged or disloyal!" he shouted, going against the stringent code of conduct the Romulan army followed. "How can you- How dare you-"

Tomalak gave him a stern look, and he reigned in his fury, but only just.

"It is what happened, Riov," Bochra said firmly. "I am sorry that it does not suit your favor. I am not happy about it, either. But it is the truth of the matter."

Tomalak looked down at him long and hard. "Then you, undamaged and unmodified so far as we could find, and claiming no other artificial influence, simply _believe _that?"

"It is the truth," Bochra repeated through gritted teeth.

"And you intend to record it so?" Tomalak inquired, chillingly soft-spoken. "The Senate is awaiting report regarding the Galorndon Core incident, and that report is solely contingent upon you, as the sole survivor. You will go on record to say that you survived on the mercy of the generous Federation? That they were kind to you? That they saved your life?"

Bochra felt very small and frail on the bed, covered only by that thin gray sheet and the pale green sick robe he wore. He stared up at the man he had so long feared and respected, and then had to look away. It was all he could do to utter a scratchy "Ie [添es脳."

_Where was the loyalty coming from? Why did I feel so obligated to that man, and to Starfleet? I was risking so much, when it would have been so much easier to simply lie to appease Tomalak. The truth had never mattered so much to me before, after all._

_But then, I had never been in such a debt before. I spent my life following orders, proving my strength and loyalty to the only place I had ever known, ever been a part of. It's easy to be loyal to the only side you really understand, the only side that has ever done anything for you. Now, I was in the debt of the other side, by association. Only by association. I didn't care much about the Federation, and I certainly was not ready to stray to their side, champion their ways and beliefs. It was Geordi LaForge, the man to whom I owed my life, that I was defending. I did not want to lie against him. I did not want to tarnish that memory I had of him, of his kindness._

_I had never dreamed such a personal, singular debt could be so poignant. And I thought that if anyone should understand, it was Commander Tomalak. It hurt me deeply that he did not, that he refused to._

Tomalak had stared down at Bochra for a very long time, his expression again indecipherable. Finally, he spoke, a single, solid word; "Dhat [Romulan: No]."

Bochra looked up at him from over the glass of water he was drinking, and slowly set it down. "What?"

Tomalak repeated it, crossing his arms. "That is not the truth you will tell."

"You're asking me to lie?" Bochra asked incredulously.

"I'm **telling **you . . . to rethink your scrambled memories," Tomalak said. "If you have damage, concentrate on fixing it. If you are influenced by them, fight it."

"But-"

"Fight it!" Tomalak ordered. "Then, when you have recovered your mind, you shall write the report."

"You mean when I agree to lie," Bochra scowled, "you will allow me to write it."

"Do not take that tone with me, Arrain Bochra!" Tomalak snapped, giving the youth a withering look. "Do you realize what _I _am risking to protect you? Any other would have declared you dead or disabled." He leaned over Bochra, grasping each side of the bed so his arms caged the boy. "Do you understand that I am doing this for you? That I should not, for the trouble it could put us both in?"

Bochra shook his head. There was no reason for him to be protected, he was sure. This paranoia was going too far, even for a man like Tomalak. Besides, the youth felt bullied, threatened, the way he had one particular summer day in his childhood . . .

"But your father saved my life once," Tomalak went on, softly now. "I owe him everything I am, everything I shall become." He sat on the edge of the bed, took Bochra's face by the side of the neck and cheek. "The least I can do is save his child."

His caressing touch was a little rough, but it felt good. Bochra exhaled, the fury going out of him, and stared at his superior. The affection was warm and genuine, which was a rare thing coming from the slippery Tomalak. Bochra wished they did not have to fight. He wished he could just go back to being Tomalak's soldier, and the damned Galorndon Core incident would never be mentioned again.

"I . . . I do not want to disobey you, rekkhai [sir]," Bochra said quietly. He put a hand over Tomalak's, a little timidly. "I know you have done so much-"

"You have no idea," Tomalak chuckled darkly. The shadow swept over his face again as he ran through memories, silent for a moment. "When I heard there were survivors, I . . . " He broke off, choking on emotion, much to Bochra's astonishment. " . . . I thought of you. Ssuaj-difv [Romulan: Do you understand]? I _only_ thought of _you_."

Bochra's eyes widened. He could not fathom it. Even with his debt to Bochra's father, and their long relationship, he still did not feel worthy of Tomalak's attention or affection. Tomalak commanded the wing-ship (flagship) of a favored Command Fleet that had belonged to his family for many years, and was both socially and politically important. He came from a very old, accomplished house-clan, one of the Great Houses which Bochra's own family, a Lesser House, owed allegiance to, and had much favor with the Senate. Bochra had accomplished nothing, came from a family ruined by his father's shameful disability, had no particularly special talent or promise, and was, on the whole, teetering on the very edge between par and sub par. He tried his damnedest to be strong and brave and fierce, but he always felt he came up short on this or that. They were worlds apart, yet Tomalak had never seemed to care.

"The other senior officers all said you were too young, it was too soon, to send you on that mission," Tomalak said distantly. "But I sent you anyway. When communication was lost, I . . . I thought I had lost you. I thought I had your blood on my hands, the son of my best friend." Tomalak rubbed the upper bridge of his nose and inhaled, then exhaled slowly. "The distress signal was a small ray of hope, and I rushed out here, pushing into Federation space, all to find you. The things I went through. What that damned Federation captain, that dha'rudh [Romulan: Total idiot(strong insult)] Picard, put me through! You have no idea. Kind, you say? Kind! He bartered my own men off to me, playing games and stalling! The one they recovered, I thought it was you, injured and at their mercy- It _could have _been you!"

"Recovered one? I thought I was the only survivor."

"You were," Tomalak affirmed bitterly. "Patahk was taken aboard by their 'Away Team', and they spent hours telling me he was being treated in their 'Sick Bay'. Hours! I thought it was you, that you were at the mercy of their ignorance! Then they told me the soldier died!" He was getting quite excited, recounting all this, and stared scowling at the other side of the room, as if the Starfleet captain, Picard, were standing there. "I was ready to start a war over it."

"Don't be-," Bochra cut himself off abruptly, before he insulted his superior. "You would not," he started over, "start a war over one man? Not over _me_?"

"I was **going to**," Tomalak said certainly, his dark eyes glittering with malice. "I was going to destroy the _USS Enterprise_, slaughter all the lot of those worthless humans who were keeping you from me, before I would have to return home and bring the news of your death to your father."

Bochra eyed him anxiously. It was frightening just how serious Tomalak was.

"But then, you appeared, and they gave you back to m- to us," Tomalak said, the anger leaving him so quickly that the sentence was eerily dry. "Now, all that I have to do is bring you back to your father, safe and whole- or so I thought."

He gave Bochra a look, scrutinizing and severe, and Bochra flinched inwardly. It had been many years since he had seen this look, but the fear it struck in him was as fresh as that summer day where he had yanked him up out of the water . . .

"In what condition I bring you home is now up to you," Tomalak said, "and whether you adhere to the nonsense you have been spouting so devotedly."

"Whether I lie for you or not, you mean."

Tomalak flew to his feet, pacing and shouting in an exasperated fury. "So! You will go back poisoned against our Empire, and full of treachery! You ungrateful little wort [Romulan: Bastard(not literal)]! _I_ answered the distress call! _I_ came out to retrieve you! Not the Federation!" He clung to Bochra's shoulders, shaking him violently. "They let your comrade _die_ on their ship, ssuej-difv [Do you understand]? Had I not been adamant about your return, they would have killed you, too!"

Bochra was not moved by this argument. Knowing Patahk, the man had played some part in his own demise. He had been a belligerent and hateful man, one of those who did not agree with having one so young as Bochra sent on the Galorndon Core mission. In fact, the reason they crashed was because he had refused to take Bochra's advice, calling him inexperienced and a fool, when his own calculations had been incorrect.

"He was severely injured when I left him," Bochra said tactfully. "Given the humans' ignorance of our physiology, I doubt they would have been able to save him."

"You _excuse _them?" Tomalak breathed in shock. "I doubt they _tried _to save him! But you, you dare-"

"I dare say what is!" Bochra shouted. "I am not afraid of the truth!"

"Are you insinuating that _I_ am?"

Bochra saw Tomalak's eyes snapping, and changed his approach. "You know me," he pleaded. "You have known me practically all of my life, Riov Tomalak. How can you make such accusations? I am only going to recount the simple facts of the incident at Galorndon Core, without any bias one way or the other, as is my duty to the Empire. No one would suspect me of being poisoned by the Federation for such a simple task, so why are you?"

Tomalak shifted his gaze, and Bochra realized that he had reasons he was unwilling to divulge. When had this paranoia seized him? The man had always been suspicious and intense, but he was acting too irrationally. Even his hatred of the Federation was stronger than usual. It was personal, and not because of Bochra. Why, then? How had the Federation affronted him to cause this new fervor?  
"I will not have treachery in my army," Tomalak said finally, his tone barely a whisper, but every breath of it lined with hatred. "You will state that you used the Federation to escape Galorndon Core, and that their attitude and manner was prejudiced and badgering. You will state that they planned to torture you for information, and would have, were it not for my intervention. Only the threat of war saved you from their clutches."

"All lies," Bochra sulked.

"Lies, that will save you from being declared a mental incompetent, or a Federation spy!" Tomalak yelled. "Lies that will save you from being stationed to an outpost so far on the other end of the galaxy that even your shouts of adoration for your precious Federation will never be heard!"

"I do _not _adore the Federation!" Bochra shouted. "I care nothing about them!"

"But do you hate them?"

The question caught the young soldier off guard, and so did his inability to answer it. His face crinkled into a puzzled disbelief, as he considered it. He wanted to shout 'Yes', as he would have easily shouted it just a couple of weeks ago, and see that distrust vanish from Tomalak's eyes. He wanted to not disappoint him, or himself, or his Empire . . . but he could not. The words simply did not come.

Tomalak looked both satisfied at his rightness, and deeply troubled by the implications of his accusations being true. "You are ruined," he sneered.

"I'm not ruined, I . . . "

But he could not muster up any more protest than that. Making a scornful sound, Tomalak rushed out of the room, leaving the baffled centurion to his own miserable thoughts.

Bochra fell back on the pillow-less bed, exhaling in frustration. Was Tomalak right? Had his mind, artificially or naturally, been poisoned by the Federation? Was he weak-minded, and too stupid to be aware of the change?

Tomalak was difficult to argue with, he always had been. The man carried such an air of certainty and knowing that, along with his experience, it made him appear perpetually in the know. Besides, Bochra still felt like nothing more than a child when confronted by him, even now, after all these years . . .

And it would hurt less, to simply agree with him and obey. It would erase all the disappointment and anger from the man's accusing eyes. Everything would go back to the way it was, so refreshingly simple, and the universe would melt into the background against the Romulan Star Empire and its glory.

_Am I choosing wrong? _Bochra wondered. _Tomalak is right, isn't he? He's never steered me wrong, never led me to disgrace. The opposite, really; he's kept me out of trouble for so long, kept me successful. This is no way to repay him. This is no way for a soldier to behave._

_So why can't I stop adhering to this truth, to this . . . misplaced loyalty? Why am I throwing everything away for one man, the way-_

Bochra's eyes suddenly widened in realization. _-the way my di'ranov _[Romulan: Father] _did!_

The youth felt his eyes moisten, and he set his jaw firmly against the emotional pain that flooded over him. _I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner. I can't believe that I never saw the connection. He also chose another over himself, and . . . paid dearly for it._

So long as he could remember, Tomalak had been his father's dear friend, and was frequently at their home for occasions, conferences, or sometimes no reason at all. He was unlike any of the people in that lonely Lesser House, always so much more sophisticated and august. When he was a young child, Bochra's father, Gavik, explained to him why that was:

They had been friends since childhood, despite having been born to families of different social status. The two, Gavik and Tomalak, attended school together, played together, and eventually joined the army together. They were always equal in talent, but Gavik always had the edge over Tomalak due to his few years more of age and his better control over his temperament. Still, Gavik relied often on Tomalak's strong emotions and passion, as well as Tomalak's social and political status. The two worked alongside, off of each other, and accomplished more this way. In this manner, Gavik became the Riov of a decent ship, and surprisingly, Tomalak deigned to be his erei'Riov [Romulan: Sub-Commander, Second - Akin to the Starfleet rank of Number Two].

They were both still young and inexperienced, but accomplished several missions that won them the attention of the chain of command. The two were poised to achieve much, though the superiors often took bets on which would betray the other first. Whether a betrayal would have eventually happened, no one would ever know, as tragedy struck soon after.

It was an outpost on the very edge of the Neutral Zone, during a series of campaigns which Bochra could never remember the name of (there were many going on at the time). The scout ship was stranded on this hostile outpost, and its crew barely escaped Klingon attack forces on the surface. While awaiting rescue, a Klingon team came after them, and a bitter battle ensued.

Tomalak was wounded in the attack, and was left by the rest of the remaining crew to die. However, Gavik turned back, and saved his longtime friend. He was severely injured, however, by Klingon attacks, and was eventually rendered paralyzed from the waist down. His injuries were so severe that they could never be healed, and he was confined to a personal mobility vehicle for the rest of his life. His military career was ruined, and he was doomed to the most shameful kind of life for a Romulan: that of an invalid.

Gavik remained dignified and upbeat, carrying whatever pain he must have secretly. He never regretted saving Tomalak, saying that it would have diminished his mnhei'sahe [Abstract term, literally "ruling passion", which denotes a Romulan's personal code of honor, their face (as in the term "saving face" ] to have left a friend to die. However, his House was weakened by the fate of their hru'Hfirh [Romulan family system term: Head of House]. Many servants left for more promising Houses, and even some of the extended family branched off to other family Houses. Bochra's mother had been so distraught, that she had actually committed the very rare act of divorcing her spouse, and was not heard from by the House again.

Tomalak had always seemed to carry a great sense of guilt due to this, and remained steadfast in his friendship with Gavik. He fought to have Gavik employed as a tactician and intelligence officer, so that he would not live idly in disgrace, and seemed to spend more time at Gavik's home than at his own family estate, even after he took a wife and had a child. Thus, Bochra watched him come and go for years, always a bit intrigued by his autocratic presence.

Secretly, Bochra always had a modicum of hatred towards his father for choosing another above himself. He knew that Gavik would have become as successful, if not more, as Tomalak was today, had he not sacrificed himself in such a way. It was a stupid choice, Bochra had always thought, and until now he was never able to understand it.

_No, _Bochra thought fiercely. _No, I still do not understand it. I am not choosing anyone over myself. If it comes down to that choice, I will choose myself. I will choose to survive, like Tomalak did._

He had never placed any blame on Tomalak. After all, it was Gavik who chose to go back for him, and who would refuse to have their life saved when it really came down to it? Now that he had tasted the threat of death, if Bochra had any remaining blame for him, it was truly gone. Besides, Tomalak had not wasted the life that was saved at such a cost, and he had always worn his gratitude on his sleeve- though without diminishing his great pride. He was smart, a survivor, and for these reasons, Bochra had formed an admiration and respect for him that went above his feelings for his own father.

_Which is why it hurts so much to fail him, _he thought sadly as he thought over their long history. _It's worse now that I'm an adult. I can't put all my faith in him and forget my own feelings and thoughts. I can't simply surrender to his judgment and be done with it. _

_I almost wish . . . I was a child again. It was so simple then. Like that first time we really saw one another, that . . . that hot summer day so long ago . . . _

It was a typical game that Romulan children played: throwing pieces of scrap metal out at the ocean vessels docked in the harbors surrounding the Romulan Capitol City. They would laugh and talk and throw, sometimes falling into the cool waters below, and always hoping against hope that their throw would be strong enough to make a scratch or a dent in the glistening hulls of the ships.

Bochra had been in the middle stages of childhood, just beneath late childhood, and had been out with friends. They threw and laughed, threw and laughed, under the burning sun for hours. At one point, Bochra slipped, fell into the waters. It was very hot, and he stayed under for a time, lost in the liquid emptiness. When he surfaced, he noticed that it was strangely quiet above. For a moment, he hesitated, as an ominous feeling came over him. But then, he figured his friends were playing a trick, or had gone to lunch as they had said they would soon. He started climbing up a steel ladder, before he felt the back of his shirt grabbed, and his body being lifted impatiently up.

The boy was set down on his feet, and looked sheepishly up to find Tomalak looking down at him. The man seemed quite tall in his uniform, and foreboding, with his arms crossed and his face austere. It became obvious that the others had fled upon seeing him, justifiably frightened off.

A bit panicked, Bochra had taken a step back, and tried to run. Tomalak quickly stopped him, again by the back of the shirt, and it was only then that he became angry. He scolded the boy for making his guilt so very obvious by the futile attempt at escape, and then for playing the silly game at all. It was, he said, both pointless and dangerous (being illegal). Why play at something where victory brought no reward to justify the risk?

Bochra had never heard the man talk so very much, and as much as he was ashamed, he was also somewhat impressed; Tomalak was as assertive and authoritative as Bochra had always imagined him to be.

_'And what,' _Tomalak had ended with, _'will you tell your father?'_

The words had struck Bochra with dread; he had never embarrassed his father before, and he was loath to start doing so now. He begged Tomalak not to tell him, that he would never play the game again.

_'Oh, and now you ask me to be an accomplice to your disobedience?' _Tomalak had asked, though he seemed more thoughtful than insulted. _'Hmph. What do you have to fear, I wonder? Your mother left long ago, the House is all but empty, and your tutor is a weak master. Your father, poor man, does not even have the physical strength to punish you properly.'_

_'I don't want to hurt him,' _Bochra had explained. He had looked up at Tomalak imploringly, trying to find some pity in those cold, dark eyes. _'Please, sir, I . . . I've never shamed him before. Please, give me another chance.'_

_'I will do one better,' _Tomalak had declared, taking the boy by the arm a bit roughly. _'I will take the place of your disciplinarian. You will learn your lesson, and your father never need feel inadequate or ashamed of your actions.'_

The words had been so threatening to the child that he had momentarily thought it would be worth causing his father any kind of pain to avoid Tomalak's discipline. It was too late to protest, though, and he knew it. All he could do was follow as he was tugged along by the soldier.

Tomalak brought him around to an empty storage building, and sat down on the lid of a metal crate. The air was cool and dank in here, and Bochra shivered from the cold in his soaked clothing. Tomalak was brisk: without a word, he pulled the child across his knees, dismantled his wet clothing, and proceeded to give him the first spanking of his young life.

Many years later, Bochra would come to be aware that this was an obsolete punishment among most other civilized species, such as the humans and the Vulcans. Being more than a little biased, he would come to the conclusion that his own people were backwards in their insistence upon its virtues. Indeed, corporal punishment was very popular in Romulan civilization, and was used not only domestically, but judicially, and in the military. Again, it was a common belief that taking pain gave strength and character. Again, Bochra would always hold fast in his belief that this was an untrue excuse to be cruel, and that it was an outdated, hateful practice.

Tomalak did not lecture or scold, or say anything, but he did not have to. His hand was hard, fast, and unrelenting enough to make tears spring to the boy's eyes. He would never have thought that a single hand could cause so much hot, stinging pain, or that a single person could cause such utter humiliation.

Though he was desperate to cry, Bochra did not. He still wanted to impress this man, for some childish reason. He still wanted Tomalak to think he was strong.

When he was put down, the tears had started falling, and the boy scrubbed at them with a damp sleeve. Blushing furiously, he looked pitifully up at the man, afraid that he would see contempt or disgust.

Tomalak, however, seemed a little impressed, despite the tears. He knelt down before the boy, and wiped at some tears still at the corner of Bochra's eye. _'You bore it well,' _he said. _'Tell me, little one, do you want to be a soldier?'_

Bochra had never considered his life's career before, but for the first time realized that his course had been laid out for many years; he had never planned to quit the military after his prerequisite five year term, never imagined being anything else. _'Ie.'_

Tomalak had smiled, and it was the first warm smile Bochra had ever seen on his face. It made him look less severe and suspicious, and somehow younger. _'You will be a fine one, then.'_

Bochra was shocked by this, and found it reassuring. Tomalak picked him up and sat him on his shoulder. Bochra thought he was a little too old for that, but did not complain or refuse. They left the cargo room, and came back to the empty docks. Tomalak walked slowly, Bochra realized, to give the him time to regain his composure. When they reached the edge of the city, Tomalak set him down again, but walked with him home.

At first, Bochra was paranoid, and watched the man suspiciously. He thought Tomalak might betray his word and tell Gavik about his son's behavior. However, Tomalak did not, and Bochra was grateful.

Their relationship was kept secret from Gavik, and Tomalak seemed to enjoy having it be so. Bochra was merely glad to have his father protected from his mistakes, and despite sometimes complaining or feeling miserable, appreciated having a strong hand to guide him. As time went on, he came to trust Tomalak implicitly, and looked up to him more than ever.

When he joined the military, Tomalak had become more business-like in their relationship. He no longer spanked Bochra like a child, nor did he always tell him what to do. Still, he remained watching over him interestedly, and gave him special consideration when he could. For his part, Bochra always viewed Tomalak as more than a friend, but as a mentor.

Some years passed, and Bochra moved up the ranks swiftly. Tomalak always seemed proud, almost as if Bochra were his own son (though he already had a son, a bit older than Bochra, that was in the military). They had not clashed over anything . . . until this Galorndon Core incident.

As he lay in bed thinking over his history with Tomalak, Bochra frowned deeply. It really was not like Tomalak to jump to conclusions that were so far-fetched as Bochra turning traitor. His paranoia seemed especially strong, even for him, and even his hatred of the Federation was especially incensed.

_He has to know me better than that, _Bochra thought. _He's known me all my life, watched me grow up, has guided me into becoming the man I am today. It makes no sense that he would use a few simple words to entrap me like this. Is he even trying to entrap me? He seems furious with concern, not hatred. But why? He can't really believe I would be a Federation spy! He can't . . . _

_He was so dedicated to bringing me home, so how can he be equally dedicated to proving me a traitor? It makes no sense!_

Bochra sighed, exhausted, and began to fall into darkness. His last conscious thought was that he ought to be angrier, that he should hate Tomalak, but that he simply could not.

**3**

HS Taibak came the next evening for Bochra's physical therapy routine. Bochra was instantly put in a foul mood by being woken so early, and his sullenness only increased as he went through the mundane motions. "It's a waste of time!" he finally exclaimed. "You know that my recovery is complete, so why keep bothering with this stupid pretense of Tomalak's?"

Taibak did not deny it, and looked around as if afraid that Tomalak would burst in at the mention of his name. With a deep breath, he hastily ushered Bochra to the back of the room, and motioned for him to continue the exercises.

"_If _Commander Tomalak were putting on such a pretense, it would be for _your _benefit," he reminded the impetuous youth. "Likewise, it would be completely within _your _power to end."

Bochra stopped the exercise. "You believe him, then?" he asked, accusatory and insulted. "That I am somehow poisoned by the Federation?"

"No, no, I do not believe that," Taibak said wearily. "I would go so far as to say that Tomalak does not believe it, either."

"Then why would he make such accusations?" Bochra asked desperately. "Why would he go so far as to call me a vang'radam [traitor]? How can he? He must know- He must-"

"Calm down," HS Taibak told him, taking him by the arms. "Calm down. He is only trying to frighten you into compliance. Now, would you mind if we talked about something else?"

Bochra looked at him suspiciously.

"I know your report is not yet . . . completed, however, you mentioned something of interest the other day," Taibak said. "In regards to the Starfleet officer you were trapped with, you mentioned something . . . about the eyes?" He motioned over his eyes. "Artificial vision?"

Bochra crossed his arms. "Ie."

"Would you mind elaborating on that for me?"

Bochra exhaled, looking at the man hopelessly. In all their previous conversations, he had suspected Taibak of trying to subtly prey information on LaForge from him; indeed, there were many occasions where Bochra thought the man cared more about this than about his own recovery. Given the light shining in the scientist's eyes, Bochra could now see this was more than true.

"I will make a deal with you," he said, growing slippery in a way that would have made Tomalak proud. "If you tell me Tomalak's reasons for being so overprotective, I will tell you all about that device."

Taibak's eyes narrowed. "Do you even _have _that much information about it, Arrain Bochra?"

"About the VISOR? Of course." Bochra lifted his head arrogantly. "I used it, myself. We hooked it into his communication device, and I saw much of its design and capability in that way."

There was that gleam in Taibak's eyes again, and Bochra smiled to himself, knowing he had him. They moved into the adjacent office, and Taibak sat down behind his desk. Bochra sat on the chair opposite. They shared a momentary look of mutual suspicion mixed with admiration, and then Bochra began.

He explained all about LaForge's VISOR ("**V**isual **I**nstrument and **S**ensory **O**rgan **R**eplacement," LaForge had mentioned the name meant). Taibak's eyes were narrowed in thought as he listened, and he mumbled to his computer to record the conversation in his personal log. He pressed his fingertips to one another in a steeple-like configuration, and stared thoughtfully at nothing. Bochra told him how Geordi LaForge was able to see all forms of spectrum, even sensitive elementary particles like neutrinos (which was a great threat to the cloaking devices the Romulan ships depended so heavily on; heightened neutrino presence could give away even a vessel with the most sophisticated cloak). He made no comment, and when Bochra was done speaking, shut his eyes for a very long moment.

"Well?" Bochra asked impatiently.

Taibak looked at him again. "Yes, our deal," he sighed. The man turned off the audio recording and leaned over his desk. "You were wondering the reasons for Riov Tomalak's excessive efforts to cover up the truth about the Galorndon Core incident, correct?"

Bochra nodded.

"Very well, I will tell you," Taibak said, rising to his feet. He paced for a moment, hands clasped behind his back, and stopped before a window. "The heart of the matter is: you have no guilt, and Tomalak, yourself, and I all know that. We all believe that. However, who else will? How will defend your truths to your comrades?" He looked back over his shoulder at Bochra. "How will you defend your truths from the Tal Shiar?"

The name ran through Bochra's consciousness like a claw of ice, making his blood go cold. "What interest would _they _have in the Galorndon Core incident?"

"They have interest in everything, as of late." Taibak came back to the desk and sat on the edge of it, looking down at the younger man piercingly. "You have been away for some months, and out of contact for weeks, so I am not surprised you do not know. In that time, their scrutiny has come to a head. People are vanishing everywhere, for reasons no one will ever know . . . if there are reasons at all."

Bochra shifted in his chair. "Then, Tomalak is merely afraid of _their _overreacting?"

Taibak avoided the youth's eyes. "Well . . . yes and no."

"HS Taibak, we had a deal."

"I know, I know." Taibak waved a hand impatiently, getting to his feet again. "The truth is, Arrain Bochra, that the Tal Shiar crackdown came about _after _Tomalak's increase in paranoia. It seemed to _mirror _his sudden wild suspicions."

Bochra jumped up from the chair. "Are you saying that Riov Tomalak is-"

"No, no!" Taibak exclaimed abruptly. "Kholairlh-a deleth mnevher [Romulan: Elements protect us - Exclamation similar to the human expression "God forbid" ]! No." He drew a breath, rubbing the side of his head as if in pain. "I am rather certain that Riov Tomalak is not one of the Tal Shiar, secretly or otherwise. However, he has always been very well-informed as to their movements."

"A source, then."

Taibak nodded. He glanced around, as if suspecting Tomalak to barge in, and motioned for Bochra to follow him back out to the medical room. "Do you understand how fortunate you are to be a friend of his?" he asked Bochra. "If Tomalak were anyone else and harbored those suspicions, you would most likely be dead by now. Dead by _my _hand."

Bochra looked at him with wide, horrified eyes. Of course, as the Hiifvehi'Saehne, it would be Taibak's role to carry out an assassination involving the administering of poison, and he could not refute an order from the Riov. Being carried out in the Medical Facility, it would easily be explained as a complication due to injury, and hushed up very neatly.

Bochra leaned a hand against his bed, feeling sick for reasons more than physical. For all he knew, Taibak _was _Tomalak's Tal Shiar source, and it was still not a certainty that Tomalak was not Tal Shiar. Likewise, it could be anyone else aboard the ship, watching and listening in ways no one would ever suspect. Bochra felt that the very floor of the room could read his every footstep, and that each wall was transparent to the eyes of the universe.

All it would take was a decision, made in any lengthy or hasty fashion, and he would be gone. All his efforts to survive Galorndon Core would be for nothing. Geordi LaForge's help and caring would be for nothing. Everything . . . his life, his feelings, his pain, his joy . . . it would all be for nothing.

A hand fell on Bochra's shoulder, and he whipped around violently. Taibak looked rather amused, and shook his head. "You will not avoid suspicion acting so suspiciously," he said. "In the end, Arrain, the choice will be yours, but I hope I have given you something to think about."

"A masterful understatement," muttered Bochra.

Taibak squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Would you like a sedative?"

"No! No, I-I- No."

Taibak gave him a look, going over to the small case of equipment he had left on a table. "I am not going to poison you," he said dryly. Then, he gave the youth a smile, and added, "Not tonight, at least."

Bochra shook his head fretfully, but hoisted himself up onto the bed. He pulled the whisper-thin sheet over himself, and allowed the Hiifvehi'Saehne to administer the drug. For a moment, he hardly cared whether it was poison or not, so long as he could rest without all the anxiety that was assaulting him so frequently since his return.

As he began to fall into blackness, Bochra fought it off. He grew restless, and looked up at Taibak with urgency. "But if Tomalak- He already believes I am influenced, and so- What if-"

"Sleep," Taibak ordered soothingly. "You will come to the right decision, Kholairlh-a ssaed-asi [Romulan: Elements willing - Akin to human expression "God willing" ]."

The words faded off into silence, as Bochra's worried mind was induced to sleep. Taibak nodded to himself, gathered his things, and left the room. The lights faded on his exit, and there was nothingness but the gleaming stars of space peeking in through the solitary window.

**4**

The haze wore off late that night, and Bochra fell into a fitful barrage of nightmares. Halfway between consciousness and sleep, he felt a hand rest atop his arm, and as he opened his eyes, saw a shadowy presence. Thinking it was a Tal Shiar agent come to destroy him, he lashed out, screaming in protest.

"Get a hold of yourself!"

The stern snarl brought Bochra out of his sleepy panic, but intensified the fear. Bochra stopped fighting, sitting up, and looked at Tomalak guardedly.

"It's only me," scowled Tomalak.

_'Only' him? That's bad enough, _Bochra thought. He drew a shaky breath, trying to calm his nerves, and addressed him formally, "Riov Tomalak. What can I do for you?"

Tomalak handed him a communication pad. Bochra looked at it curiously, and found a fully-written report filling the screen. He scrolled down through it, reading the words in shock; it was a detailed report of the Galorndon Core incident, in his own perspective, all fabricated to suit Tomalak's lies.

"All that is needed is your approval," Tomalak told him. "Once it is verified, it will be sent to my superiors."

Bochra's temper got the best of him once again, and he shook his head. "No. No! I will not spread your lies and propaganda just to prove my innocence! I shouldn't have to!"

Tomalak leaned close to him menacingly. "Then you will be ruined, or die!"

"Then so **be **it!" the exasperated youth declared.

Tomalak grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him so hard that his eyes watered. "You would throw everything away for the Federation?" he asked in furious disbelief. "Do they mean so much to you? What did they do, boy? What did they _do _to you?"

"Nothing!" Bochra retorted. He was released, and had to hold his head for the room to stop spinning. "It isn't about them, it's about me- and you. I'm not a child, Commander Tomalak, and I'm not a traitor. Why do you insist on treating me as both?"

"You _are _a child," scoffed Tomalak, "and you are acting like a traitor."

Bochra looked into his eyes searchingly. "You don't believe that. You know that I'm not."

"Know?" echoed Tomalak. "How do I know unless you prove it?" He shoved the pad at Bochra. "Acknowledge it, Arrain Bochra. That is not a request."

"I . . . I refuse."

Tomalak threw the pad so hard across the room that it was a miracle it did not explode to pieces. "You will obey me, Arrain!" he demanded desperately, shaking him again. "Do as I say! You keep questioning why I do not trust you, but why do _you _not trust _me?_ Don't you think I know what's best? Don't you see that I-"

Bochra looked at him, but Tomalak was shaking his head.

"You will verify the report, or be placed under arrest," he said. "Is that what you want, Bochra? To be the worst kind of criminal?"

"If I am arrested, it will be on _your _order, because of _your _suspicion," Bochra said angrily. "This is not protection, this is blackmail! If you accuse me, then do so! Don't lie and attribute it to others that are not even here! Don't say you are trying to protect me! Just say it!"

"Say WHAT?"

"Say that you believe I am a traitor!" Bochra retorted, eyes moist with angry tears. "Say it!"

Tomalak crossed his arms, avoiding the man's eyes. " . . . I . . . do not believe you are."

"Then how can you do this? How can you threaten to arrest me for being something even you know I am not?" Bochra argued.

"I am giving you orders, and you are refusing to obey them," Tomalak said tersely. "That is treason. And what is the cause of your treason? Hm?"

Bochra lowered his gaze.

"To protect the face of the Federation," sneered Tomalak. "How can you not see the treachery in that?"

"It's more about protecting my own face," Bochra said. "My report will not be biased, I have already assured you of that. You must trust me to handle it in my own way. I give you my word, I will not disgrace you."

"That is not good enough," Tomalak said. "There must be no holes in the report to be torn open later. It is _both _our reputations at stake."

"You have no faith in me," Bochra said dejectedly. "You still see me as a child."

"No, I see you as worse than a child!" Tomalak snapped. "You are an ungrateful little brat!"

The man paced to the other side of the room, lost in troubled thought, and stood staring out the window at the stars. "I have kept you isolated here for over a week now, as we circle outside the Neutral Zone aimlessly. My crew is uneasy and questioning of my behavior. My superiors have been badgering me for a report. But no, I stay here, waiting. And after all these years, you cannot even trust me enough to take my word on this simple matter. You do not even respect me enough to obey me as Riov."

"Rekkhai . . . "

"So be it!" Tomalak whirled to face Bochra again. "If you have forgotten your place after all these years of favor and special treatment, then let me remind you of it, _Arrain_ Bochra."

Tomalak loomed on him and yanked him down off the bed. Not letting go of the youth's wrist, he sat down on it himself, and started tugged his bewildered soldier closer.

"You wouldn't!" Bochra exclaimed in alarm. Tomalak pushed him from behind with his other hand, and Bochra felt himself tumble over the man's knees. Forgoing all formalities of rank, he shouted, "Tomalak!"

Tomalak had stopped listening to him, and Bochra knew it. He could have punished Bochra in a multitude of ways, but he had chosen this personal, off-the-record method specifically to humiliate him. There would be no fighting it, no persuading the man into something more dignified.

"You can't do this!" Bochra protested nonetheless. He tried to push off of the man's lap, outrage and embarrassment flushing his face. "I am too old! I'm a soldier! This is wrong! You can't do this to me!"

But he knew that Tomalak very well could. He was not only an old mentor that Bochra would never dream of truly defying, but he was Riov, and that gave him unchecked power over everyone and everything on the ship.

Bochra settled into his fate dismally, staring at the floor some feet down. Though the bed protruded from the wall quite high up, his hands and feet grazed the floor, and he felt awkwardly tall; the last time he had been in such a position, he had been well under his current adult height. It was all the more awkward when Tomalak opened the simply pale green sick robe, and pushed it up over his otherwise bare backside; there was a certain indignity in being unclothed that rang much truer in adulthood than childhood, as well as other complications.

"I am a soldier of the Galae [Romulan Star Navy - The Empire's Battle Forces/Space-bound Military]!" Bochra complained loudly.

"Well, you will never _dare _disobey me again after this, soldier of the Galae," scowled Tomalak. He struck the youth hard, watching him for reaction, and then continued in a fast rhythm. "Nor will you ever take for granted all I have done for you."

Bochra continued to yell protests and pleas, but Tomalak became completely silent after this statement. Finally, Bochra realized the futility of his tirade, and let it fade into silence. All that remained was the resonating sound of the slaps, and the not-quite-audible hum of the computers nearby.

Bochra's face was burning with the humility of it all, and his skin was beginning to heat, as well. It was startling that Tomalak could still hurt him in such a simple manner, and the youth felt more like a child than ever. He blinked back tears of shame, as he hung there at the Riov's mercy. It had been so many years . . . but it felt like none had passed at all. Tomalak was still the commanding superior that he had always been, and Bochra?

_I'm still the child, _he thought bitterly. _I haven't changed. So long as Tomalak made allowances for me, and treated me mildly, I was able to act as a responsible soldier; but now, at our first disagreement, I lose my respect for his rank, and act out like a tantrum-throwing child. What is wrong with me? Why, why did I let myself get so defiant?_

_Why didn't I simply listen to him? He's never been wrong before. He's never done me wrong before. How could I?_

Bochra thought vaguely of Galorndon Core, of LaForge and the _USS Enterprise_, but the thoughts seemed more like a dream than reality. They no longer mattered so much. He shook his head, trying to keep his tears from falling, and gripped the hem of Tomalak's trousers.

Tomalak did not stop, but he did glance at him. He sensed the youth's contriteness, and though he should have been smug, he appeared only sympathetic.

"R-Riov Tomalak?"

Tomalak's eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

"D-do you really believe I am a traitor, rekkhai?" Bochra asked timidly. "That it is-is possible?"

"Possible? Possible!" Tomalak suddenly spanked the boy more fervently. "Of course it is possible! In a world where Alidar Jarok betrays his Empire, anything is possible!"

Bochra winced under the flurry of hot, stinging blows, but caught interest in this statement. "Alidar Jarok?" he echoed incredulously. "The galae'Enriov [Romulan: Admiral of the Fleet]? The _hero _Jarok?"

"The same," Tomalak said scathingly. He took it out, doubtless, on the youth's backside, adding quite a few new bruises to those already there.

"Jarok, a traitor?" Bochra marveled, though he was cringing visibly and distracted by the pain. "M-mmph. I can't believe it! How do you know?"

Tomalak said nothing.

"Tomalak! Tell me!" Bochra demanded, falling out of formal etiquette yet again. "I am paying for it, so I have a right to know! Tell me!"

"That is **enough**, Arrain!"

Tomalak removed from his belt a small, thin metal object that looked like a handle. Upon pressing a button, a thin, silver rod protruded from it, and looked electrified with a green, crackling light. He hesitated for a moment, then struck the youth with it, leaving a long, thin green and purple bruise. Bochra writhed and cried out in pain.

These rods, which were normally referred to only as such, were used in more formal disciplinary situations, or sometimes as combat weapons. They yielded a terrible, lasting pain, and were not something Bochra was familiar with in the least. Despite himself, he burst into tears, and buried his face in Tomalak's pants leg.

"Why can't you just tell me why you don't trust me?" Bochra begged pitifully.

"My reasons don't matter."

"They matter to me," sobbed the youth. "It matters to _me_."

Tomalak sighed, and the beating stopped. As briskly as he had taken him over, Tomalak now flipped him back to his feet. Bochra stood wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his disheveled robe, looking hardly changed from that summer day so long ago. Tomalak reached out a hand to stroke his hair, but it stopped midway.

Instead, Tomalak stood, and slammed the boy against the wall beside the bed. Bochra stared at him with wide, tear-streaming eyes, looking petrified.

"I have spent months laying a trap for Jarok, and he took the bait just days ago," Tomalak explained. "That _fool _has gone running, straight to your precious _Enterprise_! He wants peace with them, and right now, he is spilling our secrets to that Picard's ears!"

Bochra sniffled, staring into Tomalak's eyes. The words registered, slowly, but he was no longer thinking about them. He was overtaken by a strange, new feeling- what was it? He felt drawn to Tomalak, in ways he had never considered before.

Tomalak grinned deviously. "It is a good thing that the secrets he is spilling are false, planted by none other than myself," he said proudly. "Soon, _soon _I shall have him, and that imirrhlhhse [Romulan: Fucking] Picard."

Tomalak realized that the youth was not listening to him, and that his hands were resting atop his chest, and that his eyes were looking into his with a soft sweetness.

"So, now you understand?" Tomalak asked sternly, though he allowed himself to stroke the side of the youth's face. "Do you? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Bochra looked sheepish, and he smiled a little tentatively. "Thlhom veherr'a [Romulan: My apologies(formal term)], rekkhai," he apologized. "And . . . khlinae arhem [Romulan: Thank you very much (formal, inferior to superior)]."

Tomalak was not moved, and still eyed him suspiciously. "You will acknowledge the report?"

Bochra exhaled through his nose, and walked over to the computer pad. He knelt down and picked it up, feeling Tomalak looming closely behind him. He stood up with the pad, and Tomalak was squeezing his shoulders now.

Bochra gave his pass code, and was asked if he acknowledged. In an flash, he saw Galorndon Core's truth: attacking LaForge, talking with him, helping him, being helped by him, beaming aboard the _Enterprise_ . . .

"_We are not going to hurt you."_

"_You have me word on that."_

"_Bochra . . . "_

That smile, the handshake . . .

"_Take care of yourself."_

Bochra sighed, and turned his head a little. Tomalak was closer, and his touch was gentle now. It had come down to the choice, but it was not between Bochra or Geordi, not between the Empire and the Federation; it was between pleasing or displeasing Tomalak. It was a matter of . . . love . . . not loyalty.

Bochra acknowledged. Then, relieved to be done with the mess, he turned around and faced Tomalak. "Is that well, Rekkhai?"

"Very well . . . e'lev [Romulan: Term of endearment, similar to "my dear" "love" "darling" ]."

Bochra looked up at him in surprise, and found himself pulled into an embrace. It was as tight as the day he had come back aboard after Galorndon Core, and equally relieved. He realized that Tomalak had been protecting him as fiercely as he would have protected himself, that all his actions were only for the sake of saving him. As unbelievable as it was, Tomalak simply _cared _for him- maybe more.

Tomalak drew back, and wiped away the last remnants of tears from the corners of the youth's eyes. Their eyes met, and for the first time since his return, Bochra knew that they understood each other again. Tomalak seemed to be fighting something for a moment, and then suddenly took the youth by the face and drew him into an unrestrained kiss.

Though it was new to Bochra to consider Tomalak romantically, the kiss felt as if he had been waiting his entire life for it. He kissed the man back intensely, grasping at his uniform and hair, their bodies pressing together heatedly. All he had felt for Tomalak culminated into this frenzied, pure desire and love, and though it frightened him a little, his mental hesitance was silenced by physical reaction and emotional need.

The feeling was cut off too quickly, as Tomalak broke away from him. "No," he breathed. "No, no, I cannot do this."

"Why not?" Bochra asked, reaching out and grabbing him by the sleeves. "Why?"

Tomalak shook his head vaguely, moving away from him. Bochra frowned, seeing no reason for his reticence. It was common practice these days, to have mates besides one's spouse, and had always been secretly practiced amongst the army members. In fact, many of those high in the chain of command owed their influence to secret affairs and personal favors of all sorts. As for their gender, well, it was not an admirable thing to be with one's own gender, but neither was it forbidden.

Bochra told him these things, and came up behind him. He slid his arms around Tomalak's motionless figure, nestled his face in his neck. Tomalak flushed with the greenish tint particular to their (and the Vulcan's) species, and cringed from it.

"My best friend's own son!" he exclaimed, prying the youth's hands off himself and holding them still. "I can't do this to him."

"This has nothing to do with my father," Bochra said. "It _never _has, has it?"

"No," Tomalak admitted grudgingly, kissing the top of the boy's hand. "No, I suppose not. I think I always . . . "

He could not bring himself to say the words, but it was obvious to both of them. His desperation to save him from Galorndon Core, the grudge he still carried against the _Enterprise_ for jeopardizing his return, his paranoid protection from allegations that had not even been made . . . Even before now, it had always been apparent in retrospect: his special interest in Bochra, his concern for his upbringing, his guidance, and the way he treated him as a mentor and as a superior officer. It was obvious. Bochra thought he should have realized it before.

Tomalak loved him.

And he . . .

"Jol-ao au [Romulan: I love you] , Riov Tomalak."

Tomalak shut his eyes over an exhale, and Bochra took the opportunity to slide his arms around him again. He kissed him, and despite Tomalak's fretful expression, he did not refuse it. Soon, he was the one holding Bochra, he was the one commanding the kiss, and he swung the youth around and against the wall.

Though sex was, in general, completely dependent upon personal taste, usually when two of the same gender were together, it was played roughly. Tomalak and Bochra were not exceptions; Bochra was aggressively eager, and Tomalak defended his lead in a harsh, forceful manner. They fell through the room in a reckless fashion, and it was fortunate there was nothing capable of being knocked over.

_Now I feel alive, _Bochra thought as he playfully bit into the other man's neck. Tomalak uttered something in annoyance, swatting at him, then throwing him to the floor. Bochra grinned self-consciously up at him. _I hadn't felt it since Galorndon Core, but now I do. I know I survived._

Tomalak knelt over him, and drew him into a steamy embrace. Then he forced him down again, low to the floor on his knees, and the youth felt his slender frame sliding out of the rest of his robe.

_I know I'm alive._

* * *

He did not know quite how or when they had gotten there, but the next thing Bochra knew, he was lying on Tomalak's chest, in the Riov's personal quarters. The room was nearly as sparsely-decorated as the Medical Facility, but the bed had pillows and finer, softer dressings. The youth looked up at the man, and Tomalak opened his eyes from an apparent doze.

"You looked dazed," he remarked in amusement, putting an arm around the young man's shoulders. He kissed the youth's neck and caressed his smooth skin. "Are you all right?"

"When did we-"

"You fell asleep, and I carried you," Tomalak replied. When Bochra started, he hushed him, adding, "No one witnessed it, of course. I was careful."

"Oh." Bochra stretched, lying his head back down upon the other man. "Is it very late?"

"Yes."

"Mm." Bochra glanced at him. "Riov Tomalak-"

"Oh, it is 'Riov Tomalak' again, is it?"

Bochra blushed, but persisted, "Riov, am I going to be able to return to duty tomorrow?"

"You mean, today?"

Bochra glanced at a computer screen and saw it was already morning. "Today, then?"

"I haven't decided." Tomalak's hand slid down and squeezed the youth's bottom. "Does it still hurt?"

"No."

It was a lie, and Tomalak gave him a look that showed he knew it. Bochra flinched as he was squeezed harder, and amended, "Yes, but not so much that I can't return to post."

"You're assuming I _want _you posted aboard my ship again," Tomalak said seriously. "You were a part of a failed mission, and since, you have been nothing but disrespect and trouble for me."

"I apologized for it, rekkhai," Bochra said sullenly. "I was confused, and I thought you were trying to . . . to pull power, bully me, for no reason whatsoever. I know it was not my place to question you, but I . . . I was hurt by your accusations. But I _am _sorry, and I promise you, I will never-"

"Yes you will," Tomalak said knowingly. He chuckled a bit, kissed the boy's lips. "You will. How many times have you promised me you would never disobey, disrespect, etc, again?"

Bochra lowered his gaze. "Many times."

"Ie. And how many times have you broken such promises?"

"Equally as many times, rekkhai."

Tomalak laughed at the abashed youth, and shook his head. "Now why would I want such a soldier aboard my ship, hm? Why, when I could have any other that would obey me without question, that would be perfectly obedient?"

"I don't know." Bochra gave him a knowing look. "Why _would _you?"

Tomalak stopped laughing. "You are too aware of things, and you know the answer to that question, don't you?" he told him. He sighed and ran a hand over Bochra's black hair, considering him idly. "If I do keep you, will you remain this docile? Or will you forget it all the moment you disagree with me?"

"If I do, I'm sure you'll remind me," grumbled Bochra.

"True, true," Tomalak laughed, giving the youth's bottom a hard swat. Then, he sobered, and said, "However, there are lines that cannot be crossed. I cannot lose face with my crew, and will not tolerate disrespect in front of them."

"I have never disrespected you in public, never," Bochra said, "and I never will. You have been slipping between Riov and friend- and lover- through this whole ordeal, yourself."

"True enough," Tomalak agreed. "And yes, I do know you have never openly disrespected me. You are a good soldier, bright and promising."

Bochra held his breath.

"Why so anxious, Bochra?" Tomalak asked with a teasing smile. "Do you really believe that after all this, I would let you out of my sight?"

Bochra smiled hopefully. "Then-"

"Yes, yes, welcome back to my ship, Arrain."

Bochra grinned and kissed him passionately. Tomalak made a mental note to beware of allowing his feelings for the boy soften him, as Bochra would be certain to take as much advantage of them as he could. He was not a bad man, or soldier, but he was, thought Tomalak, inherently sly. An admirable trait, but dangerous in a lover.

They were interrupted by the soft sound of the computer. Tomalak brushed the youth off his chest and sat up, answering it. Bochra lay on his side sleepily, but watched the man closely. However, it was an incoming message from their home base, and thus Tomalak threw the sheets over the youth completely to hide him from the view screen.

Beneath the heavy covering, Bochra could hear very little. He felt Tomalak fly off of the bed, and his tone become excited. The moment the view screen was turned off, the boy sat up, pushing the coverings off of himself. "Riov?"

Tomalak was dressing hurriedly. "Now, now I have him!"

Bochra felt uneasy. "Who?"

"Jarok!" Tomalak exclaimed in satisfaction. "As I expected, he has made contact with the _Enterprise_. My suspicions have all be confirmed, and the trap has caught its insect as elegantly as a spider's web."

Bochra climbed out of bed, looking around for a uniform. There were none but Tomalak's, so he grabbed for one of Tomalak's robes instead. "Are you certain?" he asked tentatively. "A man like Jarok, I still-"

"Believe it!" Tomalak assured him, straightening his uniform. He was instantly imposing and rigid, not at all as tender as he had been just minutes ago. "Here. Here, read it!"

He hastily turned on a computer and spun the screen around to Bochra. The youth bent over it, eyes tracing over the words. It was Tomalak's plan in full detail, and the more he read, the less tender Bochra suddenly felt for his Riov, as well.

For the past months, Tomalak had embroiled himself, Jarok, and an entire Fleet in plans to build a base in the Neutral Zone; this alleged base's purpose was to be the first of a strong offensive against Starfleet, which would certainly spark a bitter war between the Empire and the Federation. It was a throwback to old times, when the Romulan Empire had fought vicious space battles with Starfleet, in the very early days of the humans' space exploration endeavors.

Jarok had been championing for peace with the Federation subtly, in his older age. It was apparent he no longer wished to fight with such a foe, no longer wished to see both sides destroy themselves for so many more years. This was the ultimate test for him: a chance to stop the base before it was complete, thus sacrificing himself to avoid more of those long years of bloodshed.

However, there really was no base. There was no threat of war at the moment, either. Tomalak had feigned all the plans, and only he and some unnamed agents (most likely his Tal Shiar source/s) knew that truth. Naturally, all those other loyal soldiers working on the plan would simply be told they were canceled due to some circumstance, and never question the decision. Jarok, however, would be left with his choice and the consequences of that.

Not only that, but, Bochra read as his heart began to speed, if he went to the nearest Federation vessel, it would be the _USS Enterprise_, and if they believed him and agreed to help, they would be lured into the Romulan side of the Neutral Zone, giving Tomalak and the Warbirds that were coming to his side the perfect opportunity to destroy them with impunity.

"You can't do this," Bochra breathed in shock. He turned to Tomalak, who was motionless before a table. "Riov Tomalak, this is- it's- too cruel!"

"Too cruel?" sneered Tomalak, facing him. "No fate is too cruel for a traitor."

"But Jarok, he- He isn't a bad man, he's only . . . only misdirecting his intentions," Bochra argued. "Riov, he has also been a friend of my father, and of yours! How can you . . . "

Tomalak waved a hand impatiently. "He is not the Jarok I respected, nor the Jarok you grew up seeing," he said. "Sentimentality has no place in these situations, besides."

"You were merciful on me," Bochra pointed out softly. "Why not Jarok?"

"Because I do not love Jarok!"

The outburst fell on stunned silence. Tomalak exhaled, and walked over to the youth. "Bochra," he said patiently, putting an arm around the youth's waist. "Let us not start another fight so soon. You do remember what I just said about lines being crossed, don't you?"

There were threats beneath the composed words, and Bochra became painfully aware of the bruises still lining his backside. He hesitated, pressing his lips into a thin line, and looked up at Tomalak. "But Riov-"

Tomalak cut him off with a pressing kiss, and then gave him a faint smile. "I must go," he said. "Think about those boundaries-" He gave the youth's bottom a swat. "-Arrain Bochra."

With that, he left. Annoyed, Bochra sat down on the bed, crossing his arms sullenly. What he hated more than anything was Tomalak's habit of hearing, but not listening.

Then he realized there were more serious things at stake than his pride. Galae'Enriov Alidar Jarok was of a rank much higher than Tomalak, and thus had been a rarity at Bochra's home and in his and his father's life. However, Bochra remembered him as a respectful, noble man that had never been anything but gracious. He had a daughter quite younger than Bochra, that Bochra sometimes saw around and talked to; a giving, beautiful girl that loved her father almost as much as he adored her. She would just be starting the first of every Romulan child's five mandatory years of military service, and Bochra realized that Jarok's desperation to stop hostilities most likely had to do with her. He wanted a peaceful world where his little girl would not have to grow into a hardened, suspicious soldier.

Once again, Bochra thought of Geordi LaForge, and felt a pang of guilt. Alidar Jarok had a family, glory, success, admiration, respect, and he had thrown it all away for the sake of peace and for the sake of truth. It _was true_, Bochra knew, that peace with the Federation was possible, and would even be worthwhile. Jarok was out there now, doomed to death as any Romulan defector would be, because he had _chosen _to stand up for this truth, _chosen _to take a stand for peace. Meanwhile, Bochra, with nothing but his own insignificant life to lose, would not even sacrifice that. He had been too afraid, the task had been too daunting, and he had folded. Thinking only of his future and his relationship with Tomalak, he had signed away the truth to lies and propaganda without hardly a second thought. And now . . .

Now Jarok would die, and he would live. The hero would be disgraced and humiliated, while the coward would be prized as a strong survivor. Did the lies even matter? Soon, Geordi and his crew, that had saved Bochra so selflessly, would all be gone. They would all be dead.

_And I will still be alive, _Bochra thought. _I will be warm and happy and safe, here, with the Riov, until one day when my turn may come. The worst part is that while I feel guilty, I . . . I do not feel regret._

_Still . . . _

Bochra left the Riov's quarters, still in Tomalak's robe; he figures that everyone must be at their post, or asleep, and was correct. The halls were empty, dimmed even further for the hour. Bochra found his way back to the Medical Facility, and crept in. Everything was still in disarray, and he was thankful that the Hiifvehi'Saehne-

"Arrain Bochra. I was wondering where you had gone."

The voice made the youth whip around, startled. It was only HS Taibak, fortunately, and Bochra exhaled in relief. The feeling did not last, however, as Taibak looked at the floor and medical robe, to Bochra in Tomalak's robe, and then to the youth's large eyes.

"Um-"

"You were being disciplined?" Taibak inquired, matter-of-fact, though his eyes betrayed the fact that he knew it was quite more.

"Why do you ask?"

Taibak came around him, too closely for comfort, and said, "You walked in awkwardly, as if you were in pain. Those rods can leave marks for days. Would you like me to take a look?"

He had finished circling his patient, and stood before him. There was nothing perverse in his manner, simply medical interest . . . although, at this level, that might have been perverse enough.

"No, no," Bochra said quickly, a bit angry. "I am fine."

Taibak shrugged nonchalantly.

"I was looking for my uniform," Bochra explained. "Riov Tomalak has declared me fit to return to post. Here, on his ship."

Taibak looked at him. "And you are returning to post at this hour?" he said. He shook his head upon seeing Bochra's determined look, and went to retrieve it. "If you are thinking of interfering with this mission, I advise against it." He returned from the adjacent area and handed Bochra his restored uniform. "I have seen a number of young, hardheaded soldiers end up here by Tomalak's hand after trying his temper."

Bochra said nothing, immediately removing the Riov's robe and putting on his uniform. After so long, it felt refreshing to be back in his military dress.

Taibak watched him, taking note of the bruises, and said, "I wonder if you are merely chronically stubborn, foolish, or . . . "

Bochra looked up.

"Or whether you _enjoy _your game of testing the Riov," Taibak continued thoughtfully. He shrugged. "Well, it is none of my concern, Arrain. Do as you will, you are recovered sufficiently."

Bochra finished dressing and headed for the door, leaving the odd doctor lost in his own thoughts. Just as the doors slid open, Taibak said, "Oh, Arrain."

Bochra glanced at him, but Taibak was staring out the window and did not face him.

"It is a shame your human with the VISOR will soon be no more," he said. "I would have liked to have . . . played with that device a bit."

Feeling a little queasy, Bochra rushed from the room without another word. Though he knew he could ultimately do nothing about Tomalak's murderous plans, he walked with a sense of urgency to the main bridge. Upon heading up, he hesitated, realizing that he had absolutely no permission or authority to even set foot on the bridge. Still, he came up regardless.

Tomalak was in the command chair, leaving navigation to his second and another. He looked a bit surprised to see Bochra, though no one else took much notice. Bochra saluted, and Tomalak nodded in acknowledgment, though he seemed troubled by the youth's presence.

The _USS Enterprise _was on the viewscreen, and judging by the magnification settings, it was not too far off. They were riding along the very borders of the Neutral Zone, cloaked. Tomalak finished giving some orders, and sharply demanded that he be notified the moment the _Enterprise _entered Romulan space. Then, he gave his second the bridge, and left . . . pulling Bochra along with him by the sleeve (when no one was watching, of course).

"And who gave you permission to report to the bridge?" he asked as they strode through the empty halls.

"I did not think you would mind."

"You made assumptions for me?"

Bochra smiled a little. "You did say that you would not let me out of your sight again, Riov Tomalak."

Tomalak gave him a stern look. "Disobedience is not cute, Arrain Bochra," he said, though he stroked the youth's hair briefly. "And your uniform?"

"I retrieved it from the Medical Facility."

"From HS Taibak?"

Bochra nodded. "Ie."

"Hmph. Taibak is too aware of things, and now this," Tomalak grumbled. He glanced at Bochra. "Well, it isn't solely your fault. I have been careless, but no more."

Bochra sighed at the man's paranoia. "But it will become known eventually, at least through rumor," he said. "Our relationship? There were already rumors regarding us before I left."

"I know," Tomalak said uneasily. " . . . We will simply have to be more discreet."

"Would it matter?"

"Would it matter!" Tomalak echoed. "Do you really want to be known as _mine_? As belonging to me?"

Bochra smiled and kissed his neck. "But I _do _belong to you, Riov."

"Don't be foolish!" snapped Tomalak, pushing him aside. "All you accomplish, every success, will be attributed to me. All your failures will reflect upon me equally. Our lives would forever be intertwined."

"Everyone already does those things," Bochra pointed out scornfully. "No one would ever credit one of my lowly House for anything, anyway. They have always attributed your favor of me to your guilt over my father."

"And you would confirm their suspicions?"

"I would have to leave you entirely to _not _confirm their suspicions," Bochra said. "Are you willing to let me be stationed in another Fleet, simply to avoid the worthless talk of others?"

"Of course not."

"Then?"

Tomalak looked lost in thought, and said nothing. Bochra pondered _his _silence, and the two walked along without another word. For the moment, Jarok was entirely forgotten by them both.

Tomalak brought his young lover into his quarters with him, and the doors shut behind them. He stood at his window, staring out at space, saying nothing.

"It is not about the opinions of others," Bochra said. "You have never cared about that."

"No, I have not."

"Are you worried about your ailhun [Romulan: wife] ?" Bochra asked.

"No, she and I . . . have both enjoyed our freedom within our careers. Nothing threatens our bond, not even . . . "

"Then, why do you wish this to be so secret?" Bochra insisted. "Are you ashamed of our relationship? Are you ashamed of me?"

"No," Tomalak said, turning to him. "No, Bochra, I am not."

"Then why?" Bochra asked.

"For your father's sake, Bochra," Tomalak said, staring out into the stars again. "He is the one I never wish to know of this."

"My . . . Oh."

A Riov taking on a subordinate, especially one of the same gender, would be seen as a sign of dominance. Consent was given and it was a valid bond, but none of that denied the fact that Bochra did belong now to Tomalak, in every aspect. This was an affront on his House, if they wished to take it so, and both knew Gavik would be especially insulted, being that he could do nothing about the situation.

"Everyone has joked for so long that your father Gavik was the one person on Romulas that I never betrayed," Tomalak said quietly. There was a sad glint in his eyes, deeper than any Bochra had ever seen before. "And now, I have betrayed him, too."

Bochra came up behind him and put his arms around the man. He leaned his head on Tomalak's shoulder, and stared miserably out the window with him. After a while, Tomalak turned his face into the youth's glossy black hair, smelling him, kissing him. "And I am not," he murmured, "not even the slightest bit sorry."

Bochra smiled. "Nor am I. Riov Tomalak."

Tomalak seemed to be complacent already, and stroked the youth's hair, kissed his lips. "Well." He moved away from the window, Bochra falling off his shoulder. "Now you know my reasons, and will you respect my choice?"

"I will go along with it," Bochra agreed. "There's no reason for anyone to be involved in our business, anyway."

"Well spoken."

Tomalak eyed him for a moment, and then pulled him close by the wrist. In a sudden burst of passion, he kissed the boy heatedly. Bochra was a bit taken off guard, but he quickly caught up, tearing at his superior greedily. And now, the ill-fated Jarok was completely forgotten, and would not be remembered for quite some time.

**5**

A day came and went uneventfully. Bochra lingered near Tomalak as if he were his second, always on the bridge or in his quarters. No one really took much notice. In fact, when he did socialize with his fellow soldiers, Bochra found that he was greatly respected for his survival of Galorndon Core. He had become something of a persona on the very bottom fringes of heroism, which was quite an accomplishment for him. Though he felt bad about it, he was nonetheless grateful to Tomalak for coercing him into going along with the lies.

The _Enterprise_ seemed to be going along with Jarok's delusions, and was heading into the Romulan side of the Neutral Zone. Bochra watched it anxiously, trying to will it to turn around with hopeless thoughts. It was treacherous, but he truly did not want to see the destruction of this ship.

Finally, when it was certain that the confrontation would come within the day, Bochra started trying to persuade Tomalak to abandon his plans. They were once again in the Riov's room, where Bochra spent every night and morning now, and Tomalak was going his best to hear, but not listen.

"Riov Tomalak!"

"Do not shout at me, Bochra," Tomalak said tersely, putting on his uniform. "I will not hear another word of your protests."

"But, rekkhai, there is still a chance to make better use of this situation," Bochra pleaded. "Have it said that Jarok was simply taken prisoner while on a private mission, or that he was lost. Do not tarnish such a name as his. It would ruin his House."

"His House and legacy _are _ruined, and by him, not me!" Tomalak said defensively. "Stop speaking in defense of a traitor, I'm warning you."

"I do not excuse his actions or deny that he should die, but it would be a blow to people's faith if they saw such a great man turn to the Federation," Bochra argued. "It may even cause some to follow his train of thought. He may become a martyr."

"Then all his followers can become martyrs as well, and good riddance!" Tomalak came over to Bochra, touching his face. "Arrain. You have been a good boy this entire time. Do not try my patience now, when I am so close to victory."

Bochra scowled at his patronizing attitude. "Your actions are too extreme."

"Fvadt [Romulan: Damn] ! Agh! You annoying child!" Tomalak exclaimed, pushing the youth aside and pacing furiously. "Why don't you just say the truth? That this has nothing to do with Jarok!"

Bochra frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The _Enterprise_! Your precious savior-ship!" Tomalak said knowingly. "You simply do not want to see it destroyed!"

Bochra crossed his arms. "This has nothing to do with-"

"Don't you dare disrespect me with your lies!" Tomalak roared, charging up to him. "I'm sick of your feeble excuses and attempts to cover up your treachery! Admit it! You'd rather not fight with them!"

"The cease-fire has been good for us, Riov Tomalak," Bochra said stubbornly. "If Jarok is right about anything, it _is _that peace is more profitable than war. Your antagonizing of this one ship is unjustified, and risks too much."

"_You _dare question me, Arrain?"

"I am only advising you, Riov!"

"You have no place to advise me!"

A little hurt, and a bit more frightened, Bochra shut his mouth. Tomalak glared at him, as a parent ponders an unruly child, and reached out to touch his face. Bochra, still a bit stung at the remark, moved his head away.

"Fine, _fine_!" Tomalak snapped. "You sulk here, then! Do not let me even _see _you on the bridge! You will wait here for me, and I swear-" He grabbed Bochra by the front of his shirt. "-we will look out that window at the lifeless hull of that ship together. How would you like that?"

Bochra just shook his head. He was released, and Tomalak stormed out. He went to the doors, but they were sealed with the Riov's personal code lock. At a loss, Bochra sighed, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. He looked out the window at the stars, and then gave the order for them to shut. Whatever happened, he didn't want to see it. Let Tomalak's victory go by. He couldn't stomach any more of it.

_If this were any other Federation ship, would I really care? _Bochra questioned himself, lying down on the bed and staring nowhere. _No. I wouldn't. Tomalak is right. It has nothing to do with Jarok. Although . . . _

_His daughter. Saeihr. She was so excited the last time I saw her . . . _

"_I'm going to be a hero, just like my parents!"_

_Her mother is a Riov, her father the hero he is. All her House has always had much success and favor. She speaks of these things without ambition, without dedication, as if they are as natural as the wind she has breathed since birth. She sculpts and sings and dances- I remember one Festival where we danced together as friends- but why would she want anything but to be a soldier? She sees no reason why. She sees nothing wrong in death. All is simple and set and inevitable._

_She is exactly the way I was . . . before Galorndon Core._

_Saeihr. What must you be thinking? Do you have any idea what your father is doing to you, your House, your name? Do you know he will die soon, out here so far from his home, so far from seeing your pretty face? You look like him, you know. Will you ever look in the mirror at that face and see him? Or will you avoid mirrors and try to forget him, in his disgrace? Maybe the glass will never again reflect that smile he loves so much. So, is it worth it? How can he believe it's worth it?_

_Because if she dies in war, no one will ever see her smile, anyway._

_It's all so pointless. I feel three hundred years old! How must he feel, not even too far from one-fifty? Is he this tired? _

Bochra sighed, curled up like a thin, tall cat on Tomalak's large bed. _I wish I could never tire of the hatred and the ambition. I wish I could be more like Tomalak. Am I just my father's son? _

_I want to hate him. I want to hate Tomalak. I want so badly to hate him. Why can't I? Am I burnt out? Used up? Something has to rekindle my old strength, my old ambition. I can't simply stay latched onto Tomalak's and forget my own. I have to remember myself. I have to . . . _

Bochra worried himself to sleep. When he awoke again, he had the window shutters open, and looked out. There was nothing, so far as he could see. It was eerily still and quiet, both inside and outside the ship.

_Is that it, then? _he thought bitterly. _Are they gone, just like that? For no reason other than a meaningless grudge? Jarok, the __**Enterprise**__ . . . Geordi LaForge . . . _

The doors to the room opened, and Tomalak came in. He was not smug or smiling, rather he seemed quite tense. Bochra came up to him, and felt a surge of relief. Was there hope the plan had failed, then?

"I thought you were going to show me," he said arrogantly, "the lifeless hull of the ship?"

The words were the final straw. Tomalak reeled back and slapped the youth across the face so hard that he flew to the floor. Bochra burst into tears automatically, clutching his face and shaking. Tomalak stared down at him sternly for a long moment, before kneeling beside him. Though he did not look the least bit sorry, he still drew the sobbing youth into his arms, stroking his hair gently.

"Thlhom veherr'a, Rekkhai," Bochra apologized shakily. "Thlhom veherr'a, thlhom veherr'a . . . "

"Shh, shh." Tomalak exhaled wearily, looking quite burnt out himself, and sat down with the kid in his arms. "Enough."

The Riov held him as he cried, unabashed and loud like a small child. He seemed to understand where Bochra was coming from, and if not sympathetic, he was at least compassionate. No other Riov- in fact, no other man would have ever put up with such behavior, Bochra thought. Whatever the outcome had been, the mission was done, the _Enterprise _gone in one way or another, and it was over.

It was over.

"They all fell into my trap, but that Picard has much foresight for a human," Tomalak finally explained. He sounded grudgingly admiring of the Starfleet captain, though there was no mistaking the residual hatred. "He brought cloaked Klingon allies with him to Nelvana III. We had two ships besides this, but . . . "

Bochra craned his neck up to look at him. Tomalak did not meet his gaze, looking a bit sheepish.

"I didn't think the price would be worth it," Tomalak said. He settled where he sat, leaning his back to the wall, and took a better hold of his lover. "I thought of what you said, your unasked-for advice. We left without confrontation."

Bochra nodded. "And Jarok?"

"I have no doubt he is dead."

"Oh."

"But . . . I spoke with him confidentially," Tomalak added, eying Bochra. "His name will not be tarnished. This will all be covered up. The High Command agrees that there is no point in shaking the people's faith in the military, especially in those of such high rank."

"Th-thank you, Riov T-"

"It was not for you!" Tomalak exclaimed, though Bochra could have sworn his face colored. "I merely weighed all the options and came to the best solution. Nothing _more_."

Bochra smiled. "Ie, rekkhai."

"Hmph."

Sobering, the young soldier settled against Tomalak's chest, comfortable in his arms. "I want to apologize for all this," he said softly. "Since Galorndon Core, I've been nothing but . . . but . . . "

"A subversive, argumentative, disrespectful, troublesome brat."

"Y-yes," Bochra agreed, though his eyes widened a little at the string of insults. "But I . . . I _am _sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I hope you are."

"I am."

"Good." Tomalak's face softened the slightest bit as he glanced down at his longtime pupil of sorts. "Understand that I do not regret putting you in your place, and that I have been very soft with you."

Bochra saw that this was as close to an apology as Tomalak would come, and smiled. "I understand, and I am grateful."

"Are you?" Tomalak asked. "It isn't easy to be disciplined in any capacity, I know. It is even more difficult to put blind trust in a superior, to obey them even when you believe they are hugely mistaken. However, that trust and loyalty is the only way the chain of command can function. You are at the age where it becomes more difficult than ever, and I know your opinions were shaken by the 'kindness' you were shown by the enemy. But you must go on trusting, Bochra. Look at what happens when the faith dies: what did Jarok become? A shell of a man, less. I know I have been unsympathetic, but I do not deny it is a terrible shame. But, to me, it would be more of a shame . . . if you became that."

"Me? But I am . . . young and unaccomplished."

"Exactly," Tomalak said, squeezing his shoulder. "Exactly! Jarok spent his youth, all of it, in greatness and glory. He fought without doubt, without fear. He never questioned himself. Regardless of what he became in his own age, his achievements stand. But for one who has never had the chance to succeed to ruin what _may be _for them, what _could be _for them . . . that is much more of a travesty."

"Riov . . . "

"You understand, don't you?" Tomalak asked, looking into the boy's eyes. "Tell me that you do."

Bochra slipped his arm around the Riov's neck and drew his face down into a kiss. "I do," he said after, "and I love you."

Tomalak was satisfied with this, and leaned his head back on the wall. Though he would never admit it, he was somewhat worn out by the ordeal, as well. For a while now, he had felt uninspired, empty. The jolt of raw terror he had felt upon being informed Bochra might be dead on Galorndon Core had moved him much more than it should have. Picard's interference had rekindled some old flames of that old blood lust, and it had been a refreshing reminder of his youth. This worthwhile adversary had been, though detested, welcome.

Tomalak looked down at Bochra, touched the cheek he had struck. _Yet this very young one, he saw what I did not see: that I let myself get carried away. With Picard, with Jarok, even with this affair with the boy, I've been too irrational. I was fortunate to have this kid at my side, even if he has been disrespectful. Without him, I might have gone too far . . . _

Bochra had been dozing again, when he felt Tomalak's lips against his cheek. "Mmm, Riov?"

"Thank you."

Bochra looked up at him in surprise, but knew better than to question the gratitude or make a deal out of it. Still, he smiled, and was pleased. What Tomalak was grateful for did not matter, the words were more than enough.

**6**

Standing on the docks with the Apnex Sea sprawled out for miles ahead, Bochra smiled, though it was a melancholy expression. Had it really been so many years since that day on the docks? He picked up a rock, lightly tossing it up and down in his palm. The sea vessels were in the harbor, gleaming and flawless as they were eternally. He wondered, did he dare?

"Hold it right there!"

He dropped the stone into the water and turned around, ready to be defensive. The look fell, however, as he exclaimed, "Oh! Saeihr."

The girl was not very tall, tanned, and had a face more cute than pretty- she was inherently her father's child. She gave a start when she saw him, and saluted, then bowed. "khre'Arrain [Romulan: Senior Centurion - Akin to the Starfleet rank of Lieutenant Commander] Bochra! I'm sorry. I thought it was children throwing stones out there."

_It almost was,_ Bochra thought sheepishly. Instead he laughed, telling her it was fine, and that they stood no chance of that with her stationed nearby. Then, he took stock of her. She was in uniform, and though still soft and effeminate, was beginning to harden around the edges in her mannerisms and expressions. It would not be long before she was a real soldier. Not her father's death nor anything else in the universe could prevent that. And should it?

_Should _it?

"How are you?" he asked, dropping the formalities and speaking as a friend. "Saeihr?"

She lifted her chin, but he could see the pain in her eyes. "I am fine."

Bochra burst into laughter, shaking his head.

"What is funny!" she demanded, seeming as defensive and childish to Bochra as he must seem to Tomalak.

"That is always my first reply when I am _not _fine," Bochra said knowingly. "We've known each other for years, please, you can tell me."

"I . . . have questions." Saeihr nodded, her efforts to be brave and matter-of-fact further hardening her youthful face. She was unable to maintain her facade for long, before the pain began to seep in and wash the adulthood from her face. "Many questions . . . that no one will ever answer for me . . . "

Bochra watched her. "About?"

"Oh, I don't- I can't say." She shook her head, black hair shifting around her face; she was a more modern, effeminate youth, and thus had long, less cap-like hair. "I know we are friends, khre'Arrain Bochra, but you are also friends with Riov Tomalak."

"And he is the one you question, is he not?"

Saeihr sighed. "Yes."

Bochra put a hand on her shoulder. "Please."

"No," Saeihr insisted, turning to look up at him. "I will not question you, because we both know you cannot answer. As to whether you know the answers of not, I . . . I don't think I want to know."

_No, _Bochra thought sadly, _you don't._

He had seen the recording of Tomalak's last conversation with Jarok. He had seen the look in this girl's father's eyes, the death of all hope, all passion. Though neither he nor Tomalak truly knew what had happened to the man, it was safe to say they had still witnessed him dying.

"I'm not even certain I would want the answers, anyway," Saeihr said distantly, walking to the very edge of the dock. Her boots made her footsteps much too loud for such a thin silhouette.

"You will have them, someday, I'm sure," Bochra told her. "We all . . . find answers we dread, eventually, out there." He came up behind her and pointed up to the sky.

"And then what?" Saeihr asked, still vulnerable with youth, still so uncertain and small and alone. She looked up at him, large, dark eyes gleaming. "What happens when you find those answers, and all the other answers?"

"Then you ask more questions," Bochra replied in amusement.

She scowled, turning her face. "This isn't a joke."

"I'm not joking." Bochra took her delicate hand in his own, looked at it. How many years before the palms were, not rougher, but harder? How many years before they were stained with the blood of others? "When everything is answered, it's then that you realize that you really know nothing, not before. Ignorance, even ignorance seeking enlightenment, it's always easier than knowing. But the universe only gives us that mercy for a little while, doesn't it?"

"I suppose so . . . "

Bochra turned her to face him by the shoulders. "So you will find your answers, and then you will almost certainly realize what real ignorance is," he said. "As for what you do then, what you do with your answers, it will be completely up to you."

"Ignore them, accept them, fight them . . . " Saeihr sighed. "What did _you _do?"

"I think . . . I did a little of all those things," Bochra said. He laughed when the girl's eyes went wide. "You _live _with them, Saeihr. That's all you can do."

She seemed reassured by this, and nodded, finally smiling. No matter how many years passed, at least she would always have that smile. Bochra wished her father could have seen it one more time, today, against the beautiful sky and city and ocean.

_Well, he should have, _Bochra thought, as they walked a bit. _He should have been strong enough to live with his answers. Is it better this way? Him gone, and nothing gained, nothing spoken for? There may be war tomorrow or a hundred years from tomorrow, anyway! She may or may not hurt, suffer, cry, die. He was a fool for thinking he could change that. We all . . . know nothing. We are all . . . striving for the universe's love, attention, mercy, fortune. But not he. No, he gave the struggle up. He gave it all . . . away . . . _

"I have to return to my post," Saeihr said. She gave Bochra a smile, and then saluted. "Good day to you, khre'Arrain Bochra."

He returned the salute, watched her as she strode off in a sort of march. Her posture was excellent, her courtesy immaculate . . . yes, her father's child, indeed.

_My father also gave everything away, _Bochra thought as he stared after her. He then turned back to the harbor, gazed out. _I learned from his mistakes. Perhaps she will learn from Jarok's. If she lets it, her 'truth' could make her stronger, the way mine have shaped me. _

Bochra had been promoted, due to Tomalak's influence and his 'heroism' at Galorndon Core. Though he and his lover had their disagreements, he had learned to smooth his advice over, and not go head-to-head with the man. They played a sort of cat-and-mouse game, lovingly, and the relationship was turning out to be good for Bochra's career and social standing. Tomalak seemed proud that he had taught his protegee such subtle tactics and pragmatism, and did not mind being used in this way. They used each other, it seemed, to the mutual satisfaction of both.

They would be going back out soon, on Tomalak's ship, leaving the game of politics behind for the moment. Though he was quite well-versed in those, Bochra stilled preferred being out in space on a ship. There was more work, less useless talk, and they were free of the prying eyes of the cities. It was quiet in space, lonely, and what better place to hold fast to someone you loved?

The soldier turned from the view of the sea, to the city, and headed on back. As he did, he thought of all Jarok had left behind, all he would never see again. To think he had almost done the same, almost wasted as much . . .

_'These things have nothing to do with truth or lies,' _Tomalak had said once, in regards to the Galorndon Core incident. _'There are things that go beyond those simplistic ideals. What is truth, anyway? The Federation's truths, the Empire's truths, yours, mine, Jarok's? Whose is right? What is . . . what __**is**__? All that is provable, tangible, is calculated and finite. If we lived by truth, we would be like the yyaio _[Romulan: Dead one/s ] _, the Vulcans. We would be dead. Life is not fact. Life is too important for measurements and calculations. Can you say love, pride, loyalty, are measurable, factual, tangible things?'_

_'Not at all, Riov.'_

_'But would you do without them?'_

Bochra smiled as he thought back to the question, and shook his head as he had then. _'Not for a moment.'_

_'Then, you see?' _Tomalak had gone on excitedly. _'Suddenly, truth does not matter so much as belief. What __**is **__right does not matter so much as what __**feels **__right. Yes, this can all lead to mistake and failure, but we live through those things, as well. Even the humans can appreciate these ideals, no matter how hard they try to be rational and soullessly courteous. There are things they would die for.'_

Bochra mused to himself that LaForge had said something similar, that _'there are times when it is right to die for the things you believe in'_.

_But Jarok died not for something he felt, but because he felt nothing, _Bochra thought, finally realizing why the death bothered him so very much. _He did not die for something he hoped for, but because he had __**given up hope**__. He felt nothing but despair, I'm sure. Because Tomalak-_

_No._

_Had there been no fake plans of war, had there been no Nelvana III, Jarok would have found something else to take issue with. He would have turned for another reason. It was not about a specific threat, but about the future itself. He wanted to manipulate it for Saeihr's sake. He could not accept that we are all manipulated into the future, in some form or another. That we are all alone and small and helpless. Ironically, the reason we do fight is to feel bigger than that. If we hold on to those by our side, and lash out fast and strong . . . maybe for one moment, we can feel that we are that bigger ideal, that larger body . . . A lover, a family, a city, an Empire . . . He was fighting for peace, against the only comfort we've ever known. _

_Saeihr . . . Perhaps if you find your answers and remain lost . . . I will tell you that. Perhaps I will someday be strong enough to save you, the way Tomalak saved me._

_Then each of us, will become two, become a ship, become a Fleet, become an army, and become an Empire. _

**Fehill -**

**(End)**


End file.
